


Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore

by squad51rescue



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squad51rescue/pseuds/squad51rescue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy doesn't believe, Johnny is wishing that he doesn't believe, Chet and Marco definitely believe, and Mike, well, Mike just isn't saying...an alternate ending to the episode "Séance".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This alternate ending was based on the episode “Séance” written by Preston Wood and aired on 2/24/1973. Emergency and its characters are the property of Universal Studios and Mark VII – just borrowing them!

Johnny headed up the stairs, shaking his head at Roy’s easy acquiescence to the husband’s suggestion that they take a look around the house. How does one look for a ghost, he mused, turning left at the head of the stairs and opening the first door. He poked his head in, flicked on the switch, and peered in. It was a guest room from the looks of it, with a twin bed, night stand, and a desk hogging up most of the floor space and not exactly creating a welcoming retreat. He shut the light off and backed out, fighting down the snicker that threatened to erupt. Probably the room where they stowed their respective in laws; maybe he should suggest the idea to Roy the next time his mother in law darkened the doorway of the DeSoto household. Stick the old bat into the root cellar with an army surplus cot, a candle, and a jumbo sized can of bug repellant and see just how long she stayed. Of course Roy would need a cellar to make that work, he was pretty darn sure that the house couldn’t lay claim to that feature. Plus JoAnne might not take too kindly to the idea of her sainted mother sleeping amongst the jars of canned fruit.

He yawned, thinking that were was nothing like an odd call like this to interrupt an exhausted, dreamless sleep, and glanced into the next room down the hall. The bathroom, with its aqua blue tile and matching commode and sink, assaulted Gage’s nose with the sickening odor of hair spray and perfume, forcing him to beat a hasty retreat. The remaining door on this end of the hall led to another bedroom, equally tiny and cluttered with craft and sewing supplies. He startled slightly at the shape in the corner before recognizing it as one of those dummies that the ladies used to put their sewing creations on. Not much room for a spirit to hide out in here, he reflected, and closed the door gently on the brightly covered fabrics and other bits and pieces that filled the room.

He stumbled slightly as he passed the stairs, heading towards the remaining unchecked room to the right of the white bannisters that lined the staircase and the square landing. He looked down, but didn’t see anything in the dim light except the endless mile of harvest gold carpet. He shrugged, pushing back the weird thought that it had felt like a hand between his shoulders pushing, and closed the distance between himself and the closed door, which by process of elimination had to lead into the master bedroom. He had to put his shoulder to the door when it failed to yield with the turning of the knob and the push of his flattened palm against the wood. He lurched inside when the door swung open quicker than he had anticipated, landing on one turnout clad knee and swinging his arms wildly to remain upright.

“Good grief,” he muttered out loud, as he regained his balance and planted both booted feet firmly on the floor. He took a wary step forward and shivered involuntarily as he felt a sudden draft of cold air enveloping him and smothering him with its icy cloak. “I really need to stop watching those spooky movies before bedtime!”

He plunged forward, resting a hand on the double bed for guidance as he circled it and blundered towards the louvered doors that probably hid the clothes and shoes within. He felt an unexpected adrenaline rush as he laid a hand on each of the small, circular knobs; he circled them with his fingers and yanked open the doors.

“Nuthing……huh…what did you expect anyways, Gage? Kelly is gonna have a field day with this, if he ever finds out…,” Johnny muttered, closing the doors again and swinging around to glance around the room. Just a normal bedroom, with a maple spindled bed, a pair of matched nightstands with lamps on them, and a couple of dressers, nothing unusual and no white gowned spirit hovering above the matrimonial bed. “Mrs. Teal is getting to ya, that’s all…a little sleep will fix it.”

Nevertheless, he beat a hasty retreat from the couple’s lair, ignoring the trickle of sweat that was sliding down his back. He took the stairs two at a time, his boots clunking as his heels rapidly hit the edges. This time he knew it was a hand that pushed him because he felt the cold imprint of it between his shoulder blades; he was unable to maintain his balance and slid down the rest of the stairs at an awkward angle, ending up almost upside down at the bottom. He groaned and rolled, finally able to struggle to his knees and then pull himself to his feet with the aid of the painted post.

He vaulted out into the entryway, drawing a deep breath and composing his facial features before he joined the Teals, who were waiting in front of the flickering fireplace in the formal living room. With a straight face, he answered “nothing” to Mr. Teal’s question of whether there was anybody in the upstairs rooms and watched his partner amble into the space from the dining room. It was easy to blank out the rest of the run, telling the husband that it was no problem to respond to his call for help in the middle of the night, and easily agreeing that a good night’s sleep would solve a lot of the problems. He was itching to get out of the room, the house, and honestly, the whole neighborhood…..

Once they were in the squad, it was easy to laugh at Roy’s assertion that there were no such things as ghosts. He easily quipped back that he would hold Roy’s hand if needed, but all the while he was thinking that there was something definitely malicious in that house……..


	2. Chapter 2

“All I’m saying is that you need to be more open minded about these things…..”Johnny hissed quietly, jumping out of the squad and pushing the door closed with an irritated shove. His voice increased in volume as he realized the engine was not in the bay. “I’m telling you, Roy, there was something in that house besides the Teals.”

Roy shook his head but kept moving towards the inviting call of sleep; there was no way that he was going to respond to his partner’s fanciful imagination that seemed to have grown in equal proportion to the miles they had traveled from the couple’s house to the station. He had to admit that the hair on the back of his neck had been standing up when he had made his search of the downstairs, but other than telling Johnny that he had had a funny feeling while in the supposedly haunted house, he was not about to add fuel to the fire John was stoking by feeding him that little tidbit of information. He was sure that four hours from now when the wake up tones sounded, the whole run would simply fall into the category of weird responses and be soon forgotten.

“Good night Johnny……” he paused in the doorway to deliver the only words of encouragement that he was going to give his wide eyed colleague, who had caught up to him and was several feet behind him. Johnny glared at him and yanked off his blue jacket, keeping his mouth closed but showing his displeasure in his jerky movements. Roy sighed and continued on to his bunk, unzipping his own jacket as he moved and pulling it off. He tossed it on the end of the bed and worked his suspenders off his shoulders. He made short work of pulling off his bunker pants and readying them over his boots; he crawled into bed, welcoming the feel of the cool sheets against his bare legs.

He started to roll onto his side with his back facing Gage, but thought better of it and remained on his back, his head slightly towards the other’s bed so that he could keep an watchful eye on his young colleague. He might not want to hear any of John’s wild speculations right now, but that didn’t mean he was indifferent. Working together for over a year now, Roy was pretty sure that he could decipher most of his moods, but this time……. Johnny could be rather high strung at times or have rather odd reactions to some of their runs, but this time he was curiously different. Almost as if he wasn’t sure of how to process or respond to the hysterical antics of the delusional Dorothy Teal, or maybe he had just unwittingly allowed himself to be drawn into her paranormal flight of fancy.

Whatever the case, Roy felt his concern deepening as he observed the dark haired man divest himself of his gear, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes kept darting about the room as if searching for something or someone, and before he finally crawled under the covers his whole body shivered, almost as if, well, someone had walked over his grave. Roy’s eyebrows shot up as the saying shot into his mind, one of those weird observances that his mom liked to use and made absolutely no sense.

The paramedic closed his eyes and heaving a disgusted sigh, flipped over onto his side. Now he was starting to think like Chet, buying into superstitions and feeding his own imagination by trying to analyze his partner’s jittery movements. Plain and simple -they were both tired, had watched a scary, old movie before hitting the sack the first time, and had consumed multiple cups of coffee. Plus that first call to the Teal house involving that séance had just been plain freaky; that had probably been when their imaginations had kicked into overdrive. It was time to wind down the spectral mental imagery and let the soothing scenes of everyday life into his subconscious.

Easier said than done, he realized several moments later as he caught himself straining to hear any abnormal sounds, eyes wide open and staring at the brick partition. There were no sounds coming from Johnny’s direction at all; either he had succumbed to sleep or was lying awake staring at his wall or the ceiling. Roy grabbed his sheet and blanket and pulled them up to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and wondering if sheep counting would get him anywhere.

A thousand sheep later and his body had relaxed somewhat, sinking into the mattress slightly. The sound of the apparatus bay door going up jolted him wide awake once again; he rolled to his back and listened to the normal sounds of the engine and its crew following their routines. Since at least three of the four men shuffled quietly into the dorm room and didn’t head straight for the showers, it must have been something that didn’t involve smoke or had been a false alarm. The rustlings and whispers gradually faded to silence as the firefighters settled into their beds; the missing man came from the direction of the locker room and quickly shucked off his turnouts and dropped onto his bed. Marco, Roy thought with a small smile, as the distinctive odor of Old Spice wafted his way as the lineman tried to get comfortable.

An encompassing quiet crept through the fire house. Even the irritating sound of crickets plying their music, or the muted sounds of the traffic flying by on the 405 seemed oddly lacking. Roy gritted his teeth and waited, in vain, for the normal human noises that came from six men sharing a small space. But even Mike Stoker, who was reserved during the day but made up for it at night with his ear splitting snores, remained uncharacteristically mute. Roy opened his eyes once again and lifted himself onto his elbows, glancing about the room. Everything seemed in its place, and there were no unexpected visitors lurking in the corners.

Imagination was certainly a powerful thing, and even though Johnny hadn’t spelled out what he thought was in that house with them, all kinds of bizarre figures were cascading through Roy’s mind. He was going to throttle that paranoid partner of his, for Gage was sleeping quite peacefully in his usual position, left arm thrown up over his face covering one eye. DeSoto debated about getting up and seeking refuge in the day room; the steadfast ticking of the battery operated clock on the wall above Kelly’s head caught his attention and he focused in on the annoying, but comforting sound. He dropped back onto the bed and slowly closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe deep and clear his jumping thoughts……

Until a thump startled him awake and he bolted upright, hands wildly clutching at his covers. He blinked rapidly to clear his fuzzy vision and dropped the covers from his nerveless fingers as he located the source of the unnatural noise. His previously “sleeping like a baby” colleague was lying between their bunks on his back, his jaw working but no intelligible sounds emitting from it.

Roy pushed back the covers and swung his legs down, careful not to step on the prone figure. He leaned down and placed a hand on Gage’s shoulder, noting the fine tremor that ran through him when he touched him.

“Johnny! You ok?” He whispered, trying not to emit impatience when an answer didn’t seem to be forthcoming. “How the hell did you fall out of bed?”

Johnny stared up at him, swallowing hard and making a visible effort to collect himself. “I uh….yeah, ok, I’m ok…didn’t fall…”

“How then?” Roy’s voice rose a little in exasperation and he felt like a child being scolded by a teacher; he had fight down the instinctive reaction of clapping a hand over his mouth to shush himself, as well as fighting the urge to shake his confused and irritatingly vague friend.

“She, the sister, Alice, she pushed me…again.”


	3. Chapter 3

__

“What?” This time Roy’s squawk of disbelief was not muted, and an annoyed muttering came from at least two of the beds in response. “You can’t be serious!”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Johnny groused, his voice so low that DeSoto barely heard it. He grabbed for his bunker pants and boots, which had been knocked under his bed. After some awkward maneuvering, since Gage was in his way, he was able to locate them and pulled them out. He crawled off the end of the bed and headed for the kitchen, carrying the boots and not looking to see if his delusional partner was following.

Roy entered the day room and headed for the refrigerator, dropping his gear on the floor by the table. He grabbed two half pints of milk from the fridge and sprawled into a chair. John trudged in a moment later, rubbing his face and yawning. He did an equally graceless drop into a chair and eagerly grabbed up one of the cartons still clutched in Roy’s hand, opening it and draining it in several large gulps. He yawned again and propped up his head on the table with an elbow, hand splayed across his face. He shifted sideways and winced, rubbing at his side.

“Exactly what did you mean by again, and how exactly does a ghost push you out of bed?” Roy inquired softly, setting his own milk carton down and watching Gage trying to keep his eyes open. The other man focused and squinted back at him.

“Twice upstairs in that house I felt a hand on my back pushing; the second time I ended up traveling down those stairs faster than I wanted. And now, well, she just pushed me out, like this…” He held both of his hands up, palms vertical, and made a pushing motion. He shook his head and quirked his eyebrow up at DeSoto’s expression.

“Look, I don’t want to believe it myself, so why should you? All I know is that somehow I ended up on the floor…” An expression of pain played across his face and he raised up his white t-shirt and looked down at his right side. His expression abruptly changed to one of disbelief, matching the one that was still plastered on Roy’s face. He stood up, now completely awake. Still holding the shirt, he threw an anguished look towards his partner.

“Roy…look at this and tell me that this isn’t what I think it is…..”

Roy leaned over and looked at the expanse of skin that Johnny was baring. His jaw dropped as he saw the vivid imprint of a hand.

“Uh, she used two hands? You got another one of those?”

John snorted, dropped the t-shirt, and slid up the leg of his blue boxers. Another handprint was clearly visible at the top of his hip. He let out his breath in a loud explosion of noise and dropped back into the chair, running a hand through his hair in agitation. He dropped the hand to the table, leaving his hair standing up in scattered tufts to match the wild look in his eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” the blonde haired paramedic finally admitted, running a hand over his face and then through his hair, mimicking Gage’s movements. Another thought struck him, and he glanced warily at the slumped shoulders next to him. “What about your back, where the ghost…uh…she, it, pushed you in the house?”

A groan was his answer, and John rose to his feet once again, kicking the chair away from him. He pulled up the tail of his t-shirt and waited. Roy stood up and gingerly took hold of the material; remembering how his friend had reacted to his reassuring touch earlier he tried not to touch him. Using two fingers on each hand, he pulled the cotton material up to John’s neck. One quick look at his back and he dropped the shirt and yanked it back down a little harder than necessary. He spun around and opened the fridge. He grabbed two more cartons of milk and threw them down on the table, wishing that there was something stronger to drink.

“There’s another one, isn’t there?” Gage queried, pushing the backwards chair up hard against the table and plopping back into it. He closed his eyes and laid his head down on his crossed arms on the back of the chair.

“Yep.”

The two men sat in silence for several uncomfortable minutes, both visibly jumping when a somber voice spoke from the doorway. It was Marco, leaning against the door frame. “How come I wasn’t invited to the slumber party, guys?” He hooked his thumbs into his suspenders and grinned when the medics just stared at him in confusion.

Roy blinked, took in the sight of the fireman clad in pants and boots, and realized that he and Johnny were sitting in the kitchen of the firehouse at three in the morning, clad only in their underwear and drinking milk. This shift was just getting better and better. He couldn’t help the snicker of amusement as he realized that with the exception of their required black socks, both he and Gage were showing their patriotic colors with their red, white, and blue, shorts and tees.

He looked from Marco to John, who had dropped his head back down and seemed lost in his own world. He cleared his throat and played with the milk carton. “Well, I guess it is Johnny’s story to tell.”

“Go right ahead,” Gage muttered, apparently not so far away after all. “I mean, really, you don’t believe in ghosts so I’d like to hear you explain this away.” He raised his head up and glared at his partner, his eyes surprisingly blood shot and fatigue etching deep lines in his pale skin. His agitation was clearly visible in the way his hands, now on the tabletop, clenched and unclenched.

Lopez moved into the room, interest piqued. “Ghosts? Where?”

With some hesitation, Roy related the story, ending with the handprints. Marco bent slightly to look at Johnny, who uncharacteristically bared his teeth in a fierce grimace at DeSoto but obligingly yanked up the t-shirt once more to let the lineman view the bruise.

“Wow,” Marco breathed. He grabbed up the milk carton that Johnny hadn’t touched and ripped it open. Roy lifted his eyebrows and wondered at Marco’s obvious excitement.

“You believe in ghosts?” He queried; there was no mistaking the disbelief that laced his voice. Without looking, he could feel the force of Gage’s glare piercing through him that seemed to be increasing in its intensity.

“Don’t you?” Marco asked, then mumbled something in Spanish that sounded suspiciously like “no crees en fantasmas!” to Roy, but whatever it was Johnny apparently understood, for the younger man terminated his icy stare and now directed his attention towards Lopez, who clarified. “I’m Catholic, Roy, of course I believe.”

“Well, that means I believe too,” a sleepy voice drawled from the doorway. “Although I’m Irish Catholic….so what is it we believe in?”

Chet stumbled into the room, suspenders hanging down and wiping the sleep from his eyes. He tried to cover a huge yawn and only partially succeeded. He braced his arms on the table and looked at each man, taking second looks at Lopez and Gage, who both seemed to be vibrating with some kind of strange emotion. Lopez did the explaining this time, beginning his story with “it all started with a séance” and ending the slightly embellished tale with “and now Alice is here with us.”

Switching his attention away from the storyteller, Chet leaned forward and peered at Johnny, who was now scowling at no one in particular. He finally rotated his head to confront Kelly.

“What?” He barked out, sitting fully upright and gripping the back of his seat.

“Gentlemen,” Chet intoned solemnly, his voice so low and menacing that Roy felt goosebumps crawling up his arms. “Alice is not only among us, I think she has possessed our young friend here.”

“Aw man!” Johnny groaned, clunking his head down on the chair back; luckily his hands were still there and protected his forehead from harm. He bounced back up and glowered at Chet, who was still only inches away from him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just look at his eyes, guys. Clearly she has him in her malevolent clutches…” his voice trailed off as Gage sprang out of his chair with a squawk of dismay and disappeared into the bay, presumably to check his eyes in the squad’s mirror.

Chet somberly studied Roy, thinking that the remaining medic in the room wasn’t quite acting like he had anticipated. Shouldn’t he be more upset, since he had just found out that his partner and friend was clearly sharing his personal space with a crazy chick? Marco was exhibiting the correct response, a mixture of horror and understanding playing across his face. Roy, however, had his head cradled in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking in…laughter? Chet straightened up and clamped his hands on his hips, lips pursed in disapproval.

“Roy, you really need to take this more seriously.”

“You two, you two….”Roy hiccupped, trying to force out words around his laughter. “I don’t know how you managed it, but this has got to be the best prank you’ve ever played. And to pull it off with Gage, you two together, that’s beyond belief!”

His laughter slowed and then died as he realized that the two firemen were not joining him in his merriment, nor cracking even the tiniest bits of smiles. He stood up, his mouth dropping open as he looked from one to the other and realized that they were in earnest.

“Now wait a minute, you’re kidding, right?”

Marco vehemently shook his head, the fingers on one hand nervously playing with his suspenders. “No Roy, this is no joke. Chet may have gone a little far with the possession business, at least this early in the game, but Johnny definitely has something, or someone, that doesn’t belong in this world, after him….”

~TBC~

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

__

Roy shook his head. Ok, he really couldn’t explain the bruises on Johnny, but surely the rest of it could be reasoned away with logic. And now with both Chet and Marco feeding into the ghost theory, the youngest member of their crew was most assuredly going to take the bouncing ball of phantasm and run with it. He let out his own groan, equal in volume to the one emitted by Gage moments before, and moved over to his gear still resting on the floor. Instead of carrying it this time, he stepped into the boots and pulled up the bunker pants and snapped them.

He shot an annoyed glare in the general direction of the bickering firemen; their voices seemed to rise on each word bantered. Roy had no doubt that their captain would be entering the room very soon to see what the noise was all about and why over half his crew was missing from their bunks. He lifted his hands in a weary gesture of resignation and walked over to them. Chet stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and gaped at him, as if he had forgotten DeSoto was still in the room.

“You guys want to keep this discussion down to a low roar? Or is that too much to ask when one of your crewmates has been possessed?”

“Come on Roy, you saw how your “friend” and partner was looking at you! It looked like he was ready to take a bite out of you!” Chet exclaimed, his voice lowered but his hands speaking volume. “I’ve never seen Gage look at you, or anyone else for that matter, like that!”

“So now Johnny’s a vampire?” Roy exclaimed, fighting the irresistible urge to run screaming from the room and into the darkness of the night at Kelly’s ridiculous statement. Wait, was it a full moon tonight? Maybe that was why everyone was acting so peculiar. If that was the case, should he be on the lookout for werewolves? What was it that one used on those furry beasts to kill them? Silver bullets, wooden stakes, maybe a little garlic……butter, some shrimp…….

“Roy, Roy, Roy,” Chet admonished gently, in a tone of voice that belonged to a parent reprimanding their child. “Unless you saw some fangs when our pal showed his teeth to you, that’s not what I was implying at all. I’m simply saying that John isn’t himself; he’s doing and saying things that, well, are not in character for him.”

“Not in character,” the medic snorted, thinking that Kelly was definitely behaving in a normal manner, normal for him anyway. “For one thing, you were not even in the room when Johnny did that, so how do you know? And another thing, how do you know that’s just not his normal reaction to abnormal things; we just caught him by surprise. I mean, if you thought some spirit or ghost thing had pushed you down the stairs or out of your bed at two in the morning, how would you react?”

Roy couldn’t believe that Chet Kelly thought his colleague was possessed just because he had made some odd facial expressions. You had to give Gage credit for not doing his own “running into the night screaming” after listening to these two guys discuss the reasons behind the bruises and vocalizing their absurd theories. Sorry, but he just didn’t believe in ghosts and possession and what other cockamamie ideas these two were going to come up with.

As he stalked into the garage, he could hear the two linemen arguing possession and the merits of exorcism. Johnny wasn’t by the squad or the engine so Roy headed into the locker room. John was at the sinks but surprisingly had his back to the mirrors. He had his arms folded across his chest and was staring at the floor, apparently deep in thought. He looked up as Roy stomped into the room and held up a warning hand.

“Don’t even say it,” he growled. “Don’t start…”

“Say what?” Roy asked mildly, taking up a stance, back flat against his locker on the end. He crossed his own arms and waited, sure the quiet wouldn’t last long. He was wrong this time, however, as John simply stared at him and seemed intent on keeping his thoughts to himself. Roy sighed and abandoned his defensive pose. He sat on the bench and lowered his own gaze to the floor, hoping that would ease up some of the tension radiating off his partner.

“Don’t worry, I don’t believe anything those nuts are saying out there. But Roy, how do you explain this, this stuff?” Johnny finally broke the strained silence, the frustration clearly evident in his voice. He raked a hand through his already disheveled hair and slapped a hand, palm down, on the sink in disgust.

“I’m going back to bed. Maybe Alice has gone back to her, huh, where do ghosts go to sleep? Or do they sleep…” He muttered darkly, padding past DeSoto and disappearing through the door to the dorm. Roy stood up and peered around the corner of the locker in time to see the door swinging shut.

He jumped about a foot into the air when a hand came down on his shoulder and for the briefest moment, he imagined the light touch as belonging to the ghostly Alice. It was Mike, however, looking perplexed and half asleep as he regarded the blond paramedic with hooded eyes.

“Roy?” He jerked his head in the direction that Gage had vanished. Roy cleared his throat and sat back down.

“You remember that call we had earlier, the one we got called out on when we were watching that Frankenstein movie?” At Mike’s nod, Roy continued. “The wife, Mrs. Teal, was holding a séance at her house, trying to bring back her sister who died about a month ago. Well, this last call was for the same address. The husband called us this time to check on his wife, who’s certain that Alice, that’s the sister, has returned to the house and means harm to her husband. I made the stupid mistake of volunteering to check the house for “spirits”, to alleviate Mrs. Teal’s fears; I sent Johnny upstairs and that’s when the trouble started for us, well, for Gage anyways.”

He filled in Stoker on the rest of the creepy happenings, although he left out the unsolicited suggestions that had flowed nonstop from the rest of the engine crew. Knowing those two, they were still discussing the best way to perform an exorcism on poor Gage. Mike remained quiet throughout the tale, crossing his arms and leaning sideways on the locker next to Roy’s. He studied DeSoto’s face and after a long moment apparently came to the decision that he was deadly serious.

“You’re not saying what you think about all of this, Roy,” Mike chided gently. “And why, except for the Cap, everybody is out of their beds.”

“Probably because I don’t exactly know what to say or think…” Roy replied honestly. “I really thought Johnny was pulling a fast one, but, I don’t know, this is a little too far out even for him. As for Marco and Chet, I guess we woke them up, same as you.”

Stoker shrugged, unwinding his slumped pose to his full height. “Not sure what woke me up, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you guys. It was more like, not sure exactly, a change in the air pressure in the bunk room.”

Roy smiled; he supposed the engineer in Mike was always going to be present no matter what the circumstances. But he also noticed that Stoker didn’t exactly volunteer his thoughts on the matter. He was about to bring that up when the tones went off, summoning the whole station to a child trapped call. He ran through to the dorm, grabbing his blue jacket which was now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, and continued on to the bay.

His somber partner had commandeered the driver’s seat in the squad, so Roy detoured to the other side and jumped in. He grabbed the slip from John’s outstretched fingers and checked the address, 261 Olema Street. He was reaching for the map when Johnny’s voice stopped him.

“I know where it is.” He stated simply, adjusting his chin strap on his helmet. He took the next corner so fast that DeSoto involuntarily grabbed at the door and the dash to keep himself upright. He glanced back down at the words scribbled on the call slip and allowed a brief moment of recollection to filter into his thoughts.

“Yeah, so do I,” he admitted. “That old house in the middle of nowhere, up on the hill, right?”

“That’s the one.” Johnny stated flatly. Through the brief flashes of streetlights that illuminated the cab as they passed by them, the younger medic looked positively sick. His skin appeared so white that the dark smudges under his eyes gave him the appearance of Casper the Ghost, only he wasn’t giving off the impression of a friendly ghost at all. In fact, Roy thought with misgivings, he looked more like that tormented guy in chains who haunted Scrooge.

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” he muttered, annoyed with himself for giving in to the moment, and letting his imagination take off once again in a fanciful flight. He forcibly directed his thoughts to the house they were heading towards, only that brought up more unpleasant recollections. Like how the house strongly resembled the dilapidated structure in Psycho, an ancient house with a front porch that had probably never known a rocking chair… and rounded windows frames that resembled evil eyes mocking every move that you made…especially that one prominent window in the attic, circular and menacing.

Roy had never actually been in the house itself, but had flown above it once during the day on his way to a rescue in Las Plumas canyon when he had worked at 45s. The house resided on a hill and, as the copter winged past it, the imposing edifice had appeared forbidding and a bit threatening; not a place where anybody in their right minds would willingly go to sell encyclopedias or vacuum cleaners! He and Johnny had also responded to a rescue there during Johnny’s first wildfire; they had evacuated two elderly sisters who had to be persuaded to leave. (1)

He couldn’t repress a shudder as he imagined how it was going to appear in the dark with only the moon to provide any kind of light. He sincerely hoped that if there really was a kid trapped, that it would be something minor like a foot through the porch floorboard. Although, come to think of it, why was a kid out running around at three in the morning instead of being tucked safely in their bed?

He tensed as John turned onto Olema Street and flew down the road, his foot heavy on the accelerator and dust flying out behind them. They were probably at least a quarter of a mile from the house at the end of the road but Roy could already see the house, backlit by the moon, residing high on the hill, waiting….waiting…..waiting….

~TBC~

**_A/N – (1) from the episode Brushfire, written by Robert C. Dennis._ **

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**__ **

“Oh boy,” Johnny muttered, pulling alongside the sheriff’s car parked near the front porch. The engine was trundling up the hill behind them; the paramedics climbed out of the cab and joined Vince Howard, who was standing behind his opened door, mike in hand.

“John, Roy,” he acknowledged, turning on his spotlight and illuminating part of the porch and the side of the gloomy structure. “Just got here myself, we got a report of a boy trapped somewhere in the house. Apparently the sisters who live here have taken themselves off on a little trip around the world; I guess they finally decided to spend their inheritance.”

“Well, good for them,” Gage interrupted; Roy wasn’t sure if the words were sincere or made in jest because his partner was staring up at the top of the house and he couldn’t see his face. Vince shot the younger medic an annoyed glare and continued on.

“We received a call about thirty minutes ago from the mother of one of the two brothers involved. Seems her youngest kid returned home and told her that they had been “playing around” up here, and the other boy disappeared. Her son could hear his brother calling for help, but couldn’t find him. Must be hidden rooms or something in there…”

Johnny snorted. “Playing around this time of night, it sounds more like breaking and entering to me.”

Roy looked at him, astonished at the words tumbling out of his usually very diplomatic friend, at least while on the job; it was completely out of character for the other man to make those kind of remarks within earshot of anyone who was not a member of their crew. Vince apparently thought so too, for he was staring at Johnny with a perplexed frown.

“Just entering without permission, John, the mother states that she has the keys to the place and the boys helped themselves.” He stated, his voice flat.

“Well, let’s get some tools and lights and see if we can locate him,” Roy interceded smoothly, not really wanting to witness Gage making another smart remark or the deputy losing what little patience he had. He turned and started over to the compartment on the passenger side of their vehicle; he stopped and turned back around when he didn’t hear any movement behind him.

“Johnny?” He asked, puzzled at the lack of response. His partner was peering up at the roof of the house again, head tilted slightly as if listening, and hands on his hips.

Roy stepped forward and tapped his mesmerized colleague on the shoulder. “John!”

“Uh?” Johnny visibly startled, and whipped his head around. “What?”

Shaking his head, DeSoto motioned with his hand towards the squad. His counterpart snapped his mouth closed but the look of confusion that had flashed across his face didn’t escape Roy’s notice. Johnny started to turn, and then noticed Vince still standing at the door to his car and paused.

“Hey Vince, how’s it going?” He flashed the baffled man a grin and spun on his heel to follow Roy to the squad. The rest of the station’s men met them at the side of the truck and Roy quickly filled them in, noting that Gage was listening with as much interest as the rest of the guys. What was his problem? A moment ago he had been mouthing off to everything that Howard told them; now he was acting like he hadn’t even been there during the discussion. It was almost as if Johnny had been there physically but the rest of him…..

Rolling his eyes at his foolishness, DeSoto grabbed the lights out of the compartment, handing one off to his partner, who took it and handed him an HT. Gage tossed his helmet on the top of the truck and shoulder to shoulder they headed for the front porch, the engine crew close behind them.

The wind had picked up a bit and dust swirled about their feet from the sadly neglected yard as they crossed it and climbed the porch steps. At least two of the men jumped in surprise when the noise ripped through the small area, creating an “oooooo” sound that lifted and lowered in volume. Johnny nearly levitated out of his boots when Marco clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Watch your back in there, amigo,” he warned softly, immediately moving his hand to the middle of John’s back to steady him as he flinched in surprise at the touch and lurched in his step forward. The paramedic caught himself and looked back at the concerned man.

“Yeah, you too, okay?” At Lopez’s nod, Gage continued forward, shining his light in a wide arc. They stopped once all the men had entered the house, standing in what appeared to be the formal living room. Johnny couldn’t help his quick shiver, taking in at a glance the white shrouded furniture and the odd shadows playing about. The only sound in the fairly large room was the breathing of the men and the increasing noise of the wind, which was now buffeting the long windows. He focused his attention on Captain Stanley, who was standing closest to the front door, now closed.

“All right, Gage and DeSoto hit the upstairs, Lopez and Kelly the basement, and Stoker and I will check this floor. Vince, you want to stay here and monitor?”

“Sure, no problem,” the deputy acknowledged easily, not realizing that his hand had strayed to his belt, close to his holstered gun. He looked around the semi-circle of firemen, his uneasiness evident; he collected himself with an effort and dropped his hands down to his side. He shot a questioning glance at Gage, who had shuffled back a step and was looking towards the staircase. “The sooner we find this kid, the sooner we can all get out of here, right?”

There were murmuring assents and now the muffled sound of boots moving in different directions filled the area. Johnny headed for the stairs, Roy right behind him. Playing his light in front of him, the younger man started to ascend the wide staircase, one careful step at a time.

“Couldn’t they just turn on the lights?” He complained softly, throwing a hand up on the smooth, well-worn handrail to catch himself as he faltered, his usual rapid and confident pace slowed to a snail’s crawl. He swore he could feel icy tendrils of hair touching and crawling across the back of his neck, and it was NOT his hair that was leaving the frigid trail of chill. It didn’t help matters that he kept waiting for a push; Alice probably figured it was too hard to push him “up” the stairs

Roy, who had reflexively thrown up his hands to keep his friend from tumbling backwards, grimaced as Johnny hissed at the light touch and immediately dropped his hands. Gage righted himself, and then proceeded to shake himself like a wet dog.

“You okay?” Roy queried, glad that his partner couldn’t see his expression.

At Johnny’s subdued nod, Roy answered his question. “I believe that Winifred and Emma had the electricity turned off when they left…”

John laughed, his relief blatantly obvious in his voice as his boots hit the landing. “I can’t believe those old gals took off. I guess they figured it was better to spend their old man’s money then to fight about it. Weren’t they, like, 80 years old?”

“Yep, that they were,” Roy agreed, looking to his left and then to his right as he stepped into the hallway. They could hear the faint calls of “Philip” rising up from the floors beneath them. “You want to split up or stick together?”

“Split up, be a lot faster,” Gage answered, an eyebrow raised at the unexpected question. It wasn’t as if they were searching for victims with smoke and fire chasing them down the passageways; although, there was that little matter of the unexplained bruises decorating several portions of his body. He didn’t like it, but he understood that Roy was just looking out for him. “I’ll go right.”

Roy hesitated, then grunted and swung to his left. There were only two doors to be checked on this side and two to the right, but there was a door right smack in the middle that needed to be investigated. It probably led up to the attic. He completed his two rooms quickly but thoroughly, calling the teenager’s name and peering within the massive wardrobes that occupied each of the bedrooms. No closets in this house, he noted with a wry smile; his wife would not be too enthralled with the lack of storage within the bedrooms. It wasn’t like she owned a lot of stuff…it was the kids with their odd assortment of toys. His daughter still had a lot of baby gear she refused to part with and of course there was the baby necessities that Jo wanted to keep, just in case. There were no plans for a third child, of course, but “things happened” as his mate smilingly put it.

Johnny was just exiting the last room, walking slowly towards Roy and tapping and sliding his hand along the wall. They met at the middle door and looked at each other.

“You wanna do the honors?” Roy asked him, shining his flashlight just below his partner’s chin so he wouldn’t blind him but could watch his expression. Gage just shrugged and closed his hand around the glass doorknob. He turned it, froze, and then jumped back with a startled yelp……

~TBC~


	6. Chapter 6

**__ **

Johnny let out strangled laugh that contained absolutely no humor, and shook his hand. Feeling Roy’s concerned gaze, he wiped the hand down the side of his turnouts. “Just a static shock, that’s all. Wasn’t expecting it…”

He made a motion for DeSoto to precede him up the steps, than just as abruptly changed his mind. He pulled the door open and plowed upwards, his pace this time fast and almost careless. This staircase was narrow and steep, and the sound of Gage’s shoulder brushing the enclosed side and the thump of his boots smacking against the time warped treads shook Roy out of his frozen reverie. He tentatively reached a hand forward and touched the ornate knob.

Nothing. The glass felt cool and smooth beneath his questing fingers, but there were no sparks or heat or anything out of the ordinary emanating from it. Roy flashed his light down at his feet and then swung it at the highly polished, albeit dusty, expanse of hardwood floor that traversed the length of the hallway. The dark wood continued on into the bedrooms with nary a rug or synthetic fiber in sight. Static shock indeed, Roy thought, bringing the light back up to focus on the staircase just in time to see legs and the bottoms of boots disappearing.

He instantly berated himself. After all the missteps his partner had experienced this shift, he had really planned on keeping close behind him on those straight up stairs. He shook his head and smiled grimly as he heard the thud of footsteps overhead, glad that Gage had regained his surefootedness. He shone his light back on the door and his smile slid into a puzzled frown.

He’d still had his light trained on Johnny’s face when the younger man had leapt backwards, and while surprise had appeared on his face there had been several other expressions that had flickered and then vanished. Roy wasn’t sure what those brief flashes of emotion had signified, because in the span of time they had been partners he couldn’t recall having ever seen them before. There was also the fact that John had kept his eyes averted, leading Roy to also believe that whatever thoughts had been swirling through his head he didn’t want his colleague to pick up on.

As he clumped up the stairs, he could Johnny calling Philip’s name. He shone his light across the attic space when his head cleared the opening and was pleasantly surprised at the openness. While the room had the typical slanting ceiling of an attic, there were no walls dividing the space. The room had apparently been used as a nursery or schoolroom, or perhaps both, evidenced by the toys, teaching supplies, and even a crib and rocking horse left in place. It reminded Roy of several movies he had seen set in the English countryside, where the governess held reign at the top of the house.

Gage’s soft calls had yielded results; Roy clearly heard the panicked reply of a young male whose voice started out deep and then traveled rapidly up the musical scale to the high pitched sound of a young boy. His lips twitched in sympathy at the puberty traveling kid; there were enough embarrassments at that age without adding in this stupid stunt.

Circling around several stacked trunks he saw his friend stretched out prone on the floor, turnout coat discarded beside him. Johnny’s head was bent over a square cut out in the floor with his arms dangling out of sight. As Roy approached, he stretched his neck back up and turned his head to look back at him. His arms reappeared, followed by his hands, one which was wielding his flashlight.

“Kid is stuck down there, about four feet down. He’s ok, just cramped up a bit. What is this thing, anyways?” His hand waved at the hole, the cover that looked like it was locked into an opened position, and some kind of mechanism on the wall six inches in front him.

“Looks like a dumb waiter, although I’ve never seen one in person before,” Roy guessed, squatting down and running his hand over the series of pulleys and ropes that ran down through holes. “All the pictures I’ve seen they’ve been in the walls, not the floor.”

“Ah, food elevator…..” Johnny amended, clearly amused at the concept of a “food elevator” in the attic. “I can’t reach him, but I think I can fit through here. Looks like one of the ropes broke on the pulley mechanism; I can try and fix that and we can raise him up that way, or I’ll just get the rope down to him, have him tie off, and we’ll pull him up.”

“Right, let me contact Cap to let him know we found Philip and get some ropes to tie him off,” Roy said, and backed up a few steps. He fumbled the HT out of his pocket and informed Stanley of the situation while observing Gage sticking his head back down the hole. He was apparently talking to the boy and telling him the plan of action.

Roy’s eyes widened in disbelief when Johnny’s hands, which had been resting palms flat on either side of his bent head, suddenly shot forward and dropped into the dumb waiter, followed rapidly by the length of his arms. The flashlight that had been sitting next to his right hand got caught up in the slide and vanished; a yelp from the teenager indicated where it had landed. Next John’s shoulders disappeared, and then the rest of his body started sliding into the opened space. His shout of surprise galvanized DeSoto into action.

“Gage!” He shouted, dropping both the HT and his light as he leapt forward and made a wild grab for his friend. His fingers closed around a handful of t-shirt and the webbing of suspenders. By now, almost all of Johnny’s upper body had disappeared into the hole; another foot or so and the laws of gravity were going to win out and he was going to follow the rapid path of his light.

Roy dropped hard onto the floor as he inexplicably found himself being pulled forward. He uncharacteristically swore, loudly, as both men slid and his fingers lost their hold on the stretching material; the soft cotton of the t-shirt left under his scratching fingers stretched and ripped. There was nothing to brace his feet against to stop the slide. Reacting instinctively, he flipped sideways and sat hard on John’s legs. His seeking fingers finally found a firm hold and he clutched them talon like in the waistband of the thick turnout pants.

The desperate action seemed to have stopped the forward slithering of his colleague’s body; Roy couldn’t help the heavy sigh of relief that escaped him. He flexed his fingers, releasing his muscle cramping grip and leaned forward, still sitting on Gage’s legs. While the fall wouldn’t have been far, going headfirst and landing on top of Phillip would definitely have caused some damage to Johnny, the kid, and the structural integrity of the ancient dumb waiter.

Feeling Gage shift under him and mutter something that he couldn’t make out, he carefully eased himself off and crawled back a few steps, his left hand groping around the dusty floor and finally locating his light and the wayward HT. He slid the HT back into the cavernous pocket of his coat before crawling forward. He couldn’t see much through the hole as his partner’s slim body filled the space. He bent forward, hand resting on the lip; the gap between the edge and John’s body was so slim that his fingers brushed against Gage’s t-shirt.

“Can you pull me backwards? I got a good grip on Philip….”

He heard Johnny’s voice this time, stronger now but definitely tense, almost like he was asking politely with his jaw clenched tight. Roy could feel, through his fingers, the younger man’s body quivering under the strain and he couldn’t help the vague thought that the kid must weigh quite a bit.

“I’ll try,” Roy responded, quickly crawling back to John’s legs and debating how to pull. He encircled his arms around Johnny’s calves and bent his legs at the knees so that his feet were horizontal. Pausing, he cocked his head and listened intently for several seconds; no sounds of footsteps ascending the attic stairs yet.

DeSoto began a slow pull, trying to stay on his feet. As Johnny’s dark hair came within view, Stoker appeared with Captain Stanley at his heels. With a quick glance they immediately took in the situation and flanked the opening. Both men knelt down and reached into the dark depths to assist; within seconds John’s arms appeared and then the teen, his wrists still firmly gripped within the paramedic’s clenched hands.

Once Johnny was flat on the floor once again and Philip was being hauled the rest of the way up, Gage’s fierce grip finally pried loose, Roy heaved a huge sigh of relief and gently helped his panting friend to roll over onto his back. Johnny, flexing his fingers, blinked up at Roy as he hovered over him.

“Wow,” he whispered, head turning as he watched the teenager being set on his feet. Assured that the boy was okay when he made an unexpected lunge for the stairs, he rolled his head back and gazed at Roy, who had dropped down beside him and was trying to slow his own rapid breathing. “That was…..”

“A rather quick and not planned rescue,” Roy finished, sweeping his gaze down the length of Johnny’s body and then back up, seeking his own assurances as to his partner’s physical well-being. As to his mental health, well, that was open to consideration. Questioning words were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to voice them. What had precipitated that forward slide into the “food elevator?” What thoughts were tumbling through John’s brain and possibly influencing his actions? Was he beginning to believe that he was possessed, as Marco and Chet were so heavily hinting at?

“Yeah…” Johnny agreed breathlessly. “Not planned, that’s for sure.”

He paused, forcing himself to slow his rapid respirations. The two members of their crew had already disappeared down the stairs, after ascertaining that the medics were ok. Both men could hear the sounds of rapid descent down the second floor stairs, along with muffled shouts. Philip was apparently trying to bolt from the house; he was going to be unpleasantly surprised when he ran into the ever diligent Vince Howard on the main floor.

John’s mouth quirked upwards as he considered that encounter and then just as abruptly skewed downwards as he replayed the previous five minutes in his head. He slowly sat up, feeling his friend’s gaze on him. He purposely kept his head turned as he clumsily got to his feet and sorted through his tumbling thoughts; he bent down and picked up his coat, glad for an excuse to now turn his back on him, at least for the moment.

“You ok?” Roy asked, catching up to him as he began threading his way through the forlorn nursery toys. John didn’t waver in his forward flight, simply glanced over his shoulder and wondered how long it was going to take before DeSoto asked the question that he wasn’t going to be able to answer….

“Just fine, couldn’t be better,” he replied, halting at the top of the stairs and patting his pockets for his flashlight. What little moonlight that was leaking through the square window at the back of the attic wasn’t even coming close to lacing its silvery light over the stairs; the moon wasn’t high enough yet to send any kind of illumination through the round window at the front and there was no way he was going to tackle those vertigo inducing treads without the aid of a light.

“Good to know,” his partner said seriously, thrusting his own light forward as he realized that Gage didn’t know that his light was at the bottom of the dumb waiter. Johnny accepted it with a nod and thumped downwards, one hand shining the beam in front of him and the other sliding along the wall. He was grateful when he felt Roy’s hand drop firmly onto his shoulder. Whether the hand was there for Roy’s own safety or to keep him from plunging headfirst down the stairs he wasn’t sure, but right now he was just happy for the reassuring grip.

“Thanks,” he breathed out, once they had made the landing and the door was shut firmly behind them. Roy turned and looked at him.

“For what?”

“You know, having my back there, putting your hand on my shoulder so I didn’t do a repeat performance of cartwheeling down those…” his voice faltered and stuttered to a halt, as he caught the look of puzzlement on DeSoto’s face. “You didn’t have your hand on my shoulder?”

His partner’s expression, which was caught for a brief moment as John flashed the light up again and then down, clearly indicated that Roy wanted to answer in the affirmative. “No, no I didn’t. Johnny, what is going on?”

“Trust me, if I knew the answer to that one I would tell you!” Johnny retorted, throwing up his hands in a frustrated gesture. He turned and plunged down the stairs, his agitation accompanying him. He stopped himself at the bottom, just missing ploughing into his captain who was not so patiently standing there. DeSoto forced himself to a hasty stop also, backing up a tread so that he wasn’t breathing down Gage’s neck.

“Gage, DeSoto?” Captain Stanly queried, glancing curiously at the paramedics.

“Captain?” John whipped back, shifting feet and tossing the coat draped over his left arm to his right.

“Everything all right with you two?”

Johnny threw a harried glance at Roy, who had dropped down two stairs and was standing shoulder to shoulder with his partner, before replying. “Yes Sirrrr….”

Stanley narrowed his eyes, his only outward sign that he wasn’t completely convinced as to Gage’s assurance. “Then let’s get out of here, and catch some sleep, shall we?”

Another noisy shift of feet and both medics nodded simultaneously. They followed him out of the house, closed the already locked door behind them, and walked to the squad, where the other three men from the station were waiting. Although their stances were casual, Johnny knew they were listening with interest to the conversation that was happening on the far side of Vince’s car.

Vince was standing by the opened back door, one hand resting on his hip and the other tapping impatiently on the metal frame. The teenager was sitting, his body out of sight of the firemen but his voice carrying quite clearly as he spun a tale as to his innocence in the night’s events. The three lounging men were showing their disbelief and amusement with muted snorts and grins shielded by their hands.

The captain paused by their hastily straightening forms and lifted his eyebrows; his pointing finger was not noticed as the linemen and the engineer were already shuffling sheepishly toward their waiting engine. Vince swiveled his head to take in the abrupt departure and apparently decided he had heard enough of Philip’s tale. He bent down and said something, then slammed the door closed and came around the back of the car, shaking his head.

“Night boys, hope we don’t see each other again this shift,” he said, easing behind the wheel and waving a lazy hand. Roy and John raised their hands in acknowledgement and watched him drive forward, circle around the squad, and head down the driveway.

Roy stretched out a hand and grabbed Gage by the arm as he slammed the compartment door closed and turned to climb into the truck. Johnny glared at him and shook off the detaining hand, but stayed where he was.

“Explain to me what happened back there with the doorknob, and then the bowling alley slide across the floor,” Roy queried, his voice deceptively soft but his body language clearly denoting that he wasn’t going to accept any brush offs. John stared at him for a moment, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and then lifting a hand to run it through his hair.

“I can’t…” he trailed off as his friend shot him a glare. “I can’t explain it, not logically anyways. Roy, I touched that doorknob and got, I swear, a 120 volt shock, at least that’s what it felt like. And as for me being the bowling ball about to achieve a strike….”

Roy nodded in understanding. He knew that unforeseen toboggan run hadn’t been Johnny’s doing; he had been barely able to stop it even with all of his weight smashing his colleague’s legs to the ground. But what had caused it? Surely this wasn’t their spirit, or ghost, or whatever was lurking in the air between them right now. There was no such thing.

John’s eyes, flashing black in the moonlit night, soberly regarded Roy. A thin smile touched his lips and he opened the passenger side door. His comment was muttered, but Roy heard it as Johnny dropped into the seat. “All I gotta say is, I’m glad I have an elevator in my apartment, ‘cause there’s no way I’m going up or down three flights of stairs!”

~TBC~

 


	7. Chapter 7

**__ **

After what felt like an incredibly short twenty four hours off, the men from Station 51’s “A” shift reported back to duty. Roy, changing into his uniform in the locker room, half listened to the conversations ebbing around him but didn’t participate. Even when the words Johnny, priest, and possession appeared in the same sentence, he kept his back half turned. He finished lacing up his black boots and gently closed his locker door, wondering how the day was going to unfold. Judging by the animated words that were jumping about, the events that had occurred last shift were still the main topic of conversation, at least between the two linemen that were arguing behind him.

He sighed, and headed for the kitchen/day room, their home away from home. He had yet to see the topic of his fellow firemen’s conversation. He had noticed Gage’s motorcycle backed into the corner of the parking lot when he had pulled in, however; he knew he was present and lurking somewhere about the station. Probably sucking down some coffee, which was really what DeSoto needed right now. Only one day off this peculiar rotation, because of something going on with B shift, and he had spent half that time sleeping. It hadn’t allowed for nearly enough time to do the necessary chores he had needed to attend to, let alone the thousand extra things he had really wanted to accomplish.

Strolling into the day room, he noted Johnny’s lanky form sprawled out on the couch, a coffee cup in one hand and a section of the newspaper draped across his stretched out legs. He waved a hand in his direction but continued on to the hopefully full coffee pot sitting on the stove. Charlie Wilson stepped aside with a knowing grin and watched as the paramedic hefted the pot, felt the weight of the liquid sloshing inside, and let out a relieved sigh.

“No coffee made this morning at home, Roy?” He queried, grin still in place as he moved even further away to allow the paramedic access to the drainer behind his back.

“Nope, there was no time for us to make it or drink it. Wife was on the way out the door with the kids before I even made it to the kitchen, and I was running late as it was.” Shaking his head, he thought about the kiss he had almost missed with his harried spouse; she had doubled back and he had bumped into her at the front door on his way to catch her. They had been able to accomplish a fast but satisfying brush of lips and a slower, heartfelt hug.

He blew on his coffee and swallowed before answering the quizzical, eyebrow raised question on Charlie’s face. “Hot water heater went right in the middle of my shower; I had to call the landlord and get that arranged before I left.”

“You still renting that craftsman style house?”

“That’s the one. Jo and I both love the style of the house and the neighborhood, but we’re starting to outgrow it with the kids getting bigger. I grew up in a house with only one bathroom, but I’m definitely seeing the advantages to having at least two….”

“My wife wouldn’t even look at anything with just one when we were shopping around; I’m glad she stuck to her guns on that one!” Wilson agreed cheerfully as he stretched around and placed his cup in the sink. “See you in a few days, fellas, gotta go catch some sleep as I’m cooking tonight at the restaurant.”

“Hey, why don’t you bring some leftovers over here when you get done? I think it’s Mike’s turn to cook, and judging from the weird stuff in the bag of groceries he lugged in with him, I don’t think it’s gonna be fried chicken!” Chet declared, stopping the exiting fireman with a hand on his arm. Charlie shook his head and laughed, shrugging good naturedly away from the detaining hold.

“Don’t think that’s how it works, Chester. I’m a chef at La Pavilion, not the fry cook at the Squawky Chicken joint.” He left the room, still laughing. Chet flung up his hands in disgust and checked out the room, zeroing in on Gage, who still had his head down perusing the paper.

“Gage,” he barked out, striding purposefully in the paramedic’s direction.

Johnny didn’t acknowledge his vocal utterance, or look up as Chet halted in front of his feet, which were still stretched out and now crossed at the ankles. Kelly circled around the obstruction and dropped down on the couch. “Look John, Marco and I have been discussing your, uh, little problem, and we think we know how to fix it.”

“And what little problem would that be, Chet?” Johnny answered slowly, raising his head from the paper, crossing his arms, and staring defiantly at the other man. Roy, who had moved over to the brown pull out wall partition that they never used, winced as the full coffee cup John held tilted precariously in his index finger grip.

Kelly, who had slid even closer so that his leg was an inch away from John’s, earnestly waved a hand in excitement. He didn’t notice the mug or was too focused on his information to realize that the hot liquid was mere moments away from scalding him.

“Watch the coffee……” Roy interrupted; he stopped his warning with a sigh of relief as Johnny nonchalantly hooked another finger around the tipping vessel and tucked it against his side, arms still stubbornly crossed. John glanced at him and then focused back on the still gesticulating Kelly.

“See, Gage, Marco knows this,” his sentence was cut off by Lopez, who delivered a harsh “Chet!” from the doorway, before fully entering the room and striding angrily to the group of men.

“You were supposed to wait for me, so that we could talk to John together! This is a joint effort, remember? It involves some delicate explaining.” He crossed his arms and glared pointedly at the other lineman, tapping his foot. He moved a hand to touch the small gold cross that hung around his neck and Roy pondered the addition of the necklace. He was pretty sure that telling piece of jewelry hadn’t been there last shift.

Johnny sighed in exasperation and unfolded his own arms. He clambered off the black couch, ignoring the paper that slipped from his lap to the floor, and brushed past Marco. He stopped suddenly, spun around, and pointed a finger at Chet. “You two just….ah, forget it, just forget it!”

He whipped back around, ignoring the sloshing coffee and marched to the sink, muttering under his breath. After dumping the contents of the green and white cup, he set it down carefully and remained with his back to the avidly watching men. He took several deep breaths, trying to compose himself before he turned  around to face them, feeling their eyes on his back. He wasn’t being overly suspicious; he just knew instinctively that they were staring at him and probably twirling their fingers, crazy, crazy, and crazy, in tight circles by the sides of their heads.

He spun around, huffing out a deep whoosh of air. “Look, I appreciate your concern, or your infatuation with this stuff, or whatever it is, but I don’t need you calling me fifteen times on my day off! And Marco, siccing your sister on me when I wouldn’t talk to you anymore, that was just low, man, just low!”

He paused in his increasingly loud rant and looked over at Roy, who had moved to the table and was watching and listening with an interested but neutral expression. “Roy, do you know what I had to do to put a stop to their calls? I had to take the phone off the hook!”

Johnny slapped a hand down on the counter and raised his eyebrows at his partner, who was trying to decipher the meaning of the words directed at him.

“You were expecting a call….oh, that’s right! Jeanette!*” Roy finally deduced, after a bit of floundering about with his mental guesses.

“Yeah, Jeanette, sweet beautiful Jeanette, she was gonna call me when she finished her OT shift at Rampart, but no, oh no! These two boneheads here had to hound me all day, couldn’t get any decent sleep, and then they distracted me enough to forget about her calling me!” Gage groaned in disbelief and dropped into the nearest chair, propping his head up with a hand and closing his eyes.

Chet and Marco shifted uneasily and shot looks of guilt between them as they simultaneously came to the conclusion that they must have indeed bothered John so much that he’d forgotten about the pretty nurse he was trying to make plans with. But on the up side, they really had been concerned with their friend and all the strange things that had happened mere hours ago. They had only been trying to help.

It was Marco who stepped forward and accepted the blame. “I’m sorry, Johnny, we were just worried about you. Look, we’ll talk to you later about this, ok? I think we all need some coffee right now to start the shift off right….”

He nudged Chet, who cast him a dubious look and then nodded. “Yeah, right, we’ll wait a bit before, uh, telling you what we came up with.” He glanced slyly at Lopez but even the close proximity of his friend couldn’t stop him from delivering a parting shot.

“Exorcism, I will say it involves exorcism.”

Chet danced sideways but didn’t miss the deadly accurate cuff to his shoulder, delivered by his tight lipped colleague. They stared at each other, missing John’s now wide opened eyes and his perplexed expression. He lifted his head wearily from his hand, looked at the two rigid appearing linemen, and then directed his confusion at Roy.

“Exorcism? What the heck is that?”

Roy opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it once more to try and explain their colleagues’ plan. “They, uh, want to get rid of the evil spirit that’s inhabiting you, or following you around, or whatever she is doing….”

Bewilderment quickly turned to annoyance and Johnny turned his attention back to Marco and Chet, who had somehow come to a wordless truce. They had relaxed their poses and were now attentive. Finally, though, Gage’s features softened and he sighed and dropped his belligerent scowl. “Okay, I understand that you meant well, just don’t do it again, okay? And forget about the exorcism thing entirely as there’s no one in here but me!”

Johnny thumped his chest for emphasis with his hand and folded his arms on the table, dropping his head down. He wasn’t about to admit to them that he had almost welcomed the concerned interruptions yesterday, or that he had spent the little time he had slept wrapped up in a sleeping bag on the floor next to his couch. He had come to the brilliant conclusion when he had gotten home that he wasn’t going to sleep on anything higher than a foot off the floor; he had not wanted to end up flat on his back like he had in the station or something worse. So of course he hadn’t been able to sleep much at all, between the well-meaning phone calls and the growing anxiety of waiting for something to actually happen.

And as for the mountainous pile of laundry growing in his bedroom, he hadn’t even attempted that terrifying task. The thought of taking the steps to the laundry room, accessible right now only by an outside staircase, had been daunting. So call him a chicken or paranoid, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He would rather deal with a stinky, moldy heap of clothes then risk a downward plunge on cement stairs. Lugging the stuff to a laundromat was really beginning to sound like a great idea.

Plus there was the little matter of the hand on his shoulder while he had been descending those stairs on that last run. He had been flipping and flopping that very puzzling occurrence in his tired brain nonstop. Had that hand been friendly or there to cause him harm? Considering all the mischief that the supposed spirit, ghost, or whatever it was had been causing, he figured it was pretty good odds that it was the latter. Unless there were two entities involved? Casper the friendly ghost and Alice the unhappy and vengeful sister maybe? The questions were really piling up….

“Oh sheesh,” he muttered into his arm, and then hoped that no one had heard that exclamation. That was really what he needed, two oddball creatures following him around. Then again, maybe Casper was there to keep Alice in line? Where had good old Casper been when he had been sliding into that stupid food elevator?

He was still picking splinters out of his belly from that little “shove Johnny down the hole” stunt. When Roy had ripped his t-shirt trying to stop his headfirst plunge, the soft material had also come untucked from his turnouts and did an excellent job of riding up as he was pulled backwards. Now the skin from the bottom of his ribs to his waistband was ripped up pretty good thanks to the rough edge of the shaft; the metal finishing off the edge had been conveniently missing from that one side. The only thing he could be thankful for was the fact that Roy had not seen the nasty damage and he had been able to go home and treat it himself. He could honestly say that the advantages of being a paramedic far outweighed not being one, well, most of the time anyways. He was just going to have to be careful with his movements for the next couple of days because the patch of skin was pretty much raw and extremely tender.

Mike, who had been hovering in the doorway for most of the strange conversation, nonchalantly ambled in with hands tucked into his front pockets and dropped his simple comment into the now quiet room. “Maybe it’s a poltergeist.”

The brief moment of tranquility was immediately shattered as both Chet and Marco loudly disputed this announcement; Roy noticed that Mike didn’t contribute any more information but simply leaned against the wall and watched and listened, an inscrutable expression on his face. Amazing how that guy could drop such a well-timed and strategically placed bomb as that and then just stand back and watch the fallout. He was most assuredly the master of timing.

Roy tuned out the verbal altercation. Sliding into a chair and watching John over the rim of his cup, he wondered if the past shift’s happenings were beginning to sink in. He had noted when he had been able to see his face that Johnny looked tired and his skin color was sallow. His irritation with the two well-meaning linemen was par for the course, especially with the often abrasive and taunting Kelly, but forgetting about a girl he had been trying to hook up with for almost a month was definitely not normal. He really had meant to call his friend to see how he was doing on their day off, but had been caught up in his own problems. Plus if Gage had the phone off the hook, he wouldn’t have been able to reach him anyway; he waived away the tiny pang of guilt, justifying it with that simple fact.

Captain Stanley strode into the room, oblivious to or purposely ignoring the tense undercurrent wiggling throughout the room. The arguing voices immediately quieted and then ceased all together as he poured some more coffee into the cup he was carrying and swept his glance over his men. Chet and Marco were hovering uncertainly by the couch, Mike was leaning with arms crossed against the wall, and the two paramedics were seated at the table; Roy was staring steadfastly at Johnny, who had his head down and face completely shielded by his arms.

“Something going on that I should know about?” He asked, watching for reactions from all five men. It took only a second for the three standing men to look at him and about five seconds for DeSoto to tear his attention away from his partner; by his calculations it took Gage almost a full thirty seconds before his words penetrated his fog and he jerked his head up from its buried position. He didn’t miss the looks flashing around as each man seemed to be seeking reassurance from each other before they answered the innocent question.

“Uh, no sir, we’re just waiting for roll call,” Chet replied, reaching a finger up to nervously stroke the end of his moustache. Marco nodded in agreement, sidling closer to the door.

Stanley raised his bushy eyebrows at the evasive, hair touching answer and Marco’s stealthy, sideway slide towards freedom. “Then I suggest that you all head out to the bay, as roll officially starts in exactly one minute.”

He tapped the face of his watch to make his point, but chairs were already scraping back and bodies hurtling through the door even before he made the gesture. He waited for a moment before leisurely following the thumping footsteps; the slam of the storage door signaled that the last man had grabbed his dress hat.

Roll call was completed without any fuss, except for the childish bumping of shoulders that seemed to be unavoidable between Kelly, Lopez, and Gage. Stoker and DeSoto stood on opposite ends of the line, standing stiffly apart but both betraying their amusement by their smiles. Hank just shook his head and finished the announcements, wondering what mischief was brewing between those three.

After the hats were placed back on the shelf, the men leisurely dispersed to begin their assignments. Roy followed John to the side of the squad, assisting him with pulling down their boxes and the bio-phone. They worked in easy silence, checking the supplies and completing their morning call with Rampart to verify the calibration check. Roy snapped the latches closed on the trauma box and looked over at his partner, who seemed to have frozen in place, the black phone still in his hand.

“You okay?” He queried, rising to his feet and sliding the box onto the shelf.

Johnny startled, then firmly put the phone down and finished closing up the orange box. “Huh? Oh, yeah, just fine, just fine...”

He stretched stiffly to his feet and handed off the box; Roy took it, slotted it in place, and closed the doors to the compartment. He tagged after Gage into the dorm, and watched a moment as he dumped his armload of clean linens onto the first bed and began making it up.

“You need something?” The younger man asked, holding the pillow under his chin and pulling on the case.

“No, just kinda curious how your day off was as to, well, you know, anything strange happening?”

Johnny firmly shook the pillow down the last inch and tossed it on the bed. He locked eyes for a moment with Roy before grabbing a sheet, spinning away, and shaking it out over the next bed. “Nothing weird happened, if that’s what you mean.”

“Right, well that’s good, very good. I guess I’d better get to what I need to do then,” DeSoto responded with a smile, lingering for a moment longer to see if the younger man was going to elaborate a bit more. When it became clear that he was being studiously ignored, Roy headed for the latrines, wondering if Johnny had been telling the whole story or was purposely leaving something out.

The strident call of the station’s tones sounded, interrupting his musings. He couldn’t help his groan of dismay as he whirled around and headed for the bay. Judging by the expressions on the faces of the linemen and the engineer as they passed him on their way to the engine, they had all heard their destination very clearly.

Johnny snatched the slip from his fingers and read it before writing on it and slapping it into place under the visor. He shifted nervously in his seat, his hands pulling on his already tightened chin strap before dropping to his knees and drumming a rapid beat. He glanced over as Roy eased out of the station.

“That was Gantry’s Mortuary, right?”

“Afraid so,” Roy concurred, as they turned right and led the way down the street.

“Well, what could go wrong there? I’m sure it’s just a false alarm, or their pilot light went off on the uh, furnace, or something like that, right?” The white knuckled grip that John now had on the edge of the beige seat told a different story; his words implied that he didn’t want to believe the worst about the unknown rescue they were heading towards. The clutching fingers revealed his thoughts, however, that there would be absolutely nothing normal, or perhaps even worldly about whatever they were blindly traipsing into.

“Uh huh,” was all Roy could think of to say, as even his mind was leaping about and ploughing through possible scenarios that even the nervous medic on the seat next to him couldn’t possibly think of. He tried to tamp down his imagination as they jolted to an abrupt stop in front of the older building and climbed out; the engine rolled to a smoother halt behind them. The sight of an older man, garbed in a black suit, trotting down the sidewalk towards them told him that whatever misgivings or weird thoughts they had about this call were soon to be answered……

~TBC~

_A/N *Jeanette appears in the episode “Honest” written by Daryl Henry and aired on December 15, 1972._

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The man in the dark suit stopped by the squad, nervously wiping the perspiration off his forehead with the back of his hand and ignoring the crisply starched white handkerchief displayed prominently in his breast pocket. He clutched Johnny’s arm with a talon like hand; the paramedic was barely able to suppress the grimace of disgust as he looked at the glistening hand holding him place.

“Did you place the call, sir? Could you tell us what the problem is?” He queried, twisting his upper body to toss his helmet onto the seat. When he rotated back around the man’s face was a mere inch away from his own. Startled, John tried to step back and simply managed to trap himself against the opened squad door. His eyes opened wide as he stared in helpless fascination at the man’s opened mouth; were those fangs? Man, he really wished he had taken seconds of that garlic laden breakfast casserole that someone had concocted on C shift, probably Charlie Wilson.

“Johnny?” His partner’s curious voice shattered the taut moment and the tight grip on his arm disappeared as the man dropped his hand and turned away.

Shuddering, and blowing out his vampire repelling breath a second too late to judge its effectiveness, Gage slipped out of the suddenly claustrophobic space. He slammed the door shut far harder than necessary, trying to shake off the morbid feeling that was slithering about him. He was going to let Marco and Chet have it when they got back to the station for firing up that business again. For Pete’s sake, how did vampires even enter into his imagination? Everyone knew they couldn’t go out in the daylight, or they would dissolve into a screaming mound of ashes.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Johnny grabbed the bio-phone with his left hand and the trauma box with his right and followed his partner. He looked back over his shoulder towards the engine; Mike Stoker lifted a hand to acknowledge the brooding look but didn’t move from his relaxed but attentive stance by the shiny chrome of the engine’s bumper. The paramedic rotated his head back around and increased his pace, trying to catch up with the rest of the crew without making it too obvious. He wondered vaguely if Mike had ever tried shaving using the overly polished bumper as his mirror. What about vampires then? Did they shave? Of course not, how could they? They couldn’t see their reflections in mirrors, or was that only humans that couldn’t see that? After all, you never saw a vampire with facial hair…..imagine that. A vamp with a beard!

Almost to the slightly forbidding doors, Johnny stumbled as he caught sight of the two stone angels that flanked the entrance to the funeral home. Almost as tall as him, the grey figures held out beseeching arms and seemed to be watching his clumsy movements with cold, shifting eyes. Their wings were partly unfurled behind them, making the statues almost as wide as they were tall and giving the impression that they were poised for flight. These were not curly haired cherubs flitting about trying to shoot arrows of love into posteriors; no, these looked like sentries guarding the entrance to a tomb to keep people out.

“Or keep people in,” Gage mused darkly, trying to slow his breathing down before he hyperventilated himself into an unconscious state. He really, really was going to have it out with his so called “friends” for adding fuel to his already wildly imaginative state! He forced his eyes away from the bulging, hypnotic orbs of the very unwelcoming sculptures and bumped hard with his hip into the door, realizing a second too late that they pulled outward. His lips drawn tight over the word that tried to escape, he backpedaled and grabbed the handle with two fingers. He couldn’t resist a parting shot at the angels**. “Sorry, ladies, I gave at the office.”

He burst through the door and stopped abruptly as five heads swiveled in his direction. He reluctantly forced his own eyes away from the questioning stare of his captain and zoned in on the cadaver like figure of the manager. He was glad both of his hands were gripping the handles of the boxes; otherwise he was sure he would have smacked himself in the head for being such an idiot. It was time to push the morbid thoughts back into the ridiculous box and focus in on the rescue at hand, whatever that might be, since he had apparently missed the reason for them being here.

Boots sinking into the thickly plied carpet, Gage followed the group towards a plain, unmarked door at the end of the wide hallway, glancing in doorways as he passed them. Aside from the soothing, sleep inducing music wafting around them that reminded him of the elevators at Rampart, the place was reminiscent of a luxurious hotel lobby. Of course the caskets on display in that last room he had just passed wouldn’t exactly be standard accommodations in a normal hotel, unless of course that hotel was located in Transylvania.

He gulped and increased his pace, catching up to Chet just as he entered the unmarked door. Chet glanced back at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching and his eyes bearing a haunted look.

“Is it just me, or does this place give you the creeps?” He whispered, jerking his head towards the group descending the cement staircase.

Johnny just nodded, not trusting his voice to come out in his normal range; it would probably be more like a squeak. He shot his own look around the stairwell, which was very stark in comparison to the area they had just left. Cement, cement, and more grey cement was basically the decorating theme here, he observed as they thumped downwards. He slid a shoulder on the wall, all the way down the echoing stairs, for support both physical and mental; they came to the landing and followed the men through a metal door.

It felt like going from a blast furnace into a meat locker as they found themselves in a dull, dim hallway. The muted, pleasant music from upstairs was replaced by an annoying hum from fluorescent lights strung overhead that did nothing to alleviate the gloomy, dank atmosphere. John shivered, wishing he had on his blue jacket to combat the hair rising chill enveloping him. Marco had dropped back and now both linemen were flanking him as they traversed the wide space, passing a freight elevator and then a pair of wide doors that opened onto a garage. He got a good glimpse of a shiny, black hearse; he resolutely slid his eyes past and stopped in front of another door that the three men in front of them had just entered.

“Guys,” he warned softly. They were standing so close to him that he was unable to move forward any further; their turnout clad shoulders were effectively holding him in place.

“Be careful, Johnny,” Marco cautioned in an equally low voice and stepped back, his hand going up to touch the crucifix around his neck. Gage managed to repress the ominous cloud that threatened to overtake him and used his foot to push open the door. He half dragged Kelly through the door with him as the stubborn Irishman hadn’t budged from his protective position; they both had to turn their bodies sideways to fit, boxes bumping legs as they piled through.

The sight that greeted them wasn’t supernatural or unusual in any way. Except for the sheet shrouded body that occupied a table in the dim shadows against the wall, the scene was almost comforting in its familiarity. A patient that needed assistance and the anxious onlookers hovering nearby; of course in this instance it was only the gaunt, black suited man and the engine crew excluding the engineer.

Johnny moved quickly to his partner’s side to assist in aiding a young woman who was seated on a low, rolling stool. She was wearing a voluminous dress that effectively concealed her body shape along with what appeared to be a white lab coat. She lifted her head from her hands as he crouched down by her side and flashed him a sweet but embarrassed smile.

“Really guys, I’m ok, I just fainted and Poppa freaked out.”

“Poppa?” Roy queried, shooting a look in the direction of the table as if expecting the still figure to rise up and walk.

“The manager and owner of this groovy joint, my daddy, he’s very protective of me. See, I was just doing the makeup on our, ah, customer over there, and the smell of the embalming fluid made me light headed.” She hunched over her knees and added in a tiny voice, “I’m pregnant and Poppa doesn’t know yet.”

Her head shot back up and she whispered an entreaty. “Please don’t tell him that, not yet anyway…”

Roy nodded and flashed his unusually tight lipped partner a glance. Johnny nodded, confirming Roy’s guess that the lady was well over eighteen years of age.

“No problem, Miss. Let’s just finish checking you out,” Roy said softly, and laid a gentle but restraining hand on her arm to prevent her from rising. She conceded and sat quietly while they finished their checks and contacted the hospital. Johnny was engrossed in writing down the information and finishing up with Mike Morton on the phone; he didn’t notice the girl suddenly turn the admiring glance she was shooting at him into a look of amazement, disbelief, and horror.

She shot to her feet, her mouth opened wide in an “O” of surprise. The clatter of the stool that fell behind her got everyone’s attention, including the object of her now pointing finger.

Johnny scowled, not bothering to hide his annoyance as he hung up the phone. The expression quickly morphed into one of incredulity as he realized there was no way Chet or Marco could have set this little drama up with the pregnant woman; they had entered the room as the same time as him. He rose slowly to his feet, dropping the green pen onto the surface of the bio-phone with a clink. The notebook he had been scribbling in followed the path of the pen and landed on his foot; he ignored both and turned to look behind him, fists half raised in a defensive pose.

The girl was pointing to a spot above his head but he could see nothing unusual above or beyond where he was standing. A tremor ran through him as he felt something warm rush over him but the sensation dissipated as quickly as it had occurred. When he swung back around, the young lady had dropped her hand and was now using it to clutch DeSoto’s arm with a firm grip. Johnny had expected to see her cowering in fear or revulsion; she was beaming at him with a smile so wide and bright he was pretty sure he was going to go blind. And there was “Poppa” about two feet behind her, doing his own beaming at HER with his pointy yellow fangs, only his sickly grin was all about pride.

Gage let out a whoosh of air from behind clenched teeth, not realizing that he had been holding his breath. He surveyed the frozen scene in front of him, noting with trepidation Captain Stanley standing next to Poppa. Their leader’s arms were folded across his chest in a stance Johnny recognized instantly; it was the “what the hell is going on here” pose they all knew so well. And his stalwart defenders were bunched shoulder to shoulder about two feet away from the bio-phone, their relaxed postures not indicative of the frantic movements he had seen, out of the corner of his eye, from them only seconds before.

Good old dependable Roy, on the other hand, had already sprung into action with his usual unflappable composure. He had Poppa’s daughter already situated on the now upright stool and was crouched to the side of her, asking her questions. What kind of questions, John wasn’t sure, but hopefully he was getting to the bottom of whatever hallucinations she was experiencing…….

He sighed softly, and hunkered down to pick up the items he had dropped. He closed up the orange box, very aware of and purposefully ignoring for a few seconds the activity now going on around him. The footfalls of the now moving linemen were almost identical in the steadfast, measured thump of their boots against bare cement as they walked towards the exit; he could easily discern the captain’s confident stride heading towards him. He rose to his feet and forced himself to raise his head and check the progress Roy was making with the girl.

She was now standing, looking at him with coquettish, fluttering eyelashes. She was still talking to his partner, who was wearing a look that Johnny could only describe as skepticism laced with amusement. There had been a lot of that going on for the last several days, and unfortunately he appeared to be the center of all the unwanted attention.

“Miss LeRue ok, John?” Captain Stanley had ended his five pace journey inches away from him, his raised eyebrows and the ever present crossed arms the only indication that he had more questions to ask but would rein in his patience until they were back at the barn.

“Ah, yes sir, she’s fine,” Johnny quickly answered, not about to betray patient confidentiality when the patient’s father was circling around them like a vulture waiting a chance to feast. “The embalming fluid, the smell, made her light headed, maybe not enough ventilation in here….”

“Uh huh.” The captain’s two worded acknowledgement was dubious, and the medic had a disturbing vision of himself being stretched on some kind of medieval torture rack, with Stanley applying hot pokers to the soles of his feet and ordering him to tell the truth…..but for some reason he was wearing his bunker pants and rubber boots, so he was forced to simply endure the noxious smell of the melting footwear. Funny way to torture a guy…..

He switched his gaze to the other side of the rectangular shaped room, studiously studying the turned off lighting suspended over the cadaver table while he worked on putting his absurd thoughts to bed. He could see that Roy and the young lady had finally finished their discussion; DeSoto had a half smile playing on his lips and suddenly Miss LeRue was on her feet and barreling towards him faster than someone should be who had just passed out. He threw up his hands and braced himself just in time as she slammed into him, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head upon his chest.

“What…?” He choked out, grimacing as her head smashed his badge into his chest; surely she had to be feeling that? Her octopus arms tightened around him even further and he grunted in discomfort, shooting a helpless look at Roy and then at his captain. They were both standing there grinning like idiots, exactly the way he was feeling. He sensed but did not hear someone come up behind him and knew without turning his head that Poppa LeRue was the one breathing down, or on, his neck.

“Poppa!” She exclaimed, throwing her head up and quite accurately impacting Johnny’s chin. His head snapped up and back; he staggered backwards and the emaciated man steadied him with two bony hands and held him in place with ease. Now trapped firmly between the LeRue family, Gage took a steadying breath before trying to extricate himself from the filling in the human sandwich as professionally as he could.

“Poppa, did you see her? Johnny’s spirit? Did you feel her, Johnny, when she passed through you?” The girl stepped backwards, thankfully, but she now had one of his hands wrapped between both of hers and was inexplicably tugging at him.

“No, no Jeanette, you know I cannot see them, only sense them. Please release Mr. Gage, dear, I believe you are making him most uncomfortable.”

That was an understatement, Johnny mused, feeling a flush warm his neck and then crawl upwards at both Jeanette’s odd words and her familiarity. At least dear old dad had finally stepped in, both literally and figuratively, even though he really was standing too close to him again. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and shouting “too close, too close!” even as his arm felt like it was being pulled from its socket as he remained stubbornly in one place, refusing to slide across the slick, cement surface.

Seconds later Jeanette finally dropped his hand and he sidled sideways, heading towards the safety of his captain and partner; although, he really wasn’t sure about the security emanating from those two right now. It looked suspiciously like they were about to break into laughter at any moment. At least Roy had made a feeble attempt by moving one step closer to him….. Like that was really going to help him with a sun loving vampire and a spirit seeing chick.

“You okay there, Johnny? You look a little, ah, flustered?” Roy asked, doing a remarkable job of keeping his face expressionless.

“I’m fine, just fine,” he replied sulkily, resisting the urge to ask questions. That would come later, in the safety of their truck. He jerked his head towards the door, signifying his desire to flee from the room, and pointedly picked up the black and the orange boxes. “Can we just……?”

“Sure, we’re done here, Miss LeRue needs to go up and get some fresh air.” Roy picked up the oxygen and lightly touched the young lady on the arm, urging her to precede him. Captain Stanley was already at the door, holding it open with one hand and gripping the bio-phone in the other, having relieved his paramedic of it. He waited patiently while the daughter ran up to her father, whispered quite a few words in one his jutting out ears, and then slipped out. Roy followed her, with John close on his heels.

The stifling and frigid atmosphere of the room they had just left gave way to the equally freezing environment of the hallway. Gage strode briskly down the echoing space, taking in his bleak surroundings with one eye and keeping the other on his intended target – the back of DeSoto’s head as he disappeared into the stairwell. He entered the well-lit, enclosed square and had one foot planted firmly on the first step when the owner’s deep voice brought him to a reluctant halt.

“Mr. Gage…”

“Yes, Mr. LeRue?” He turned part ways to look at the odd man; the clunk of footsteps disappeared as Roy left the stairs and vanished within the sanctuary of the lavishly appointed hallway. The slow click of the plain door closing reverberated throughout their enclosed space and Johnny involuntarily clenched his teeth. His curiosity was warring with his strong desire to do his own exiting as fast as he could.

“My daughter, Jeanette, really wanted to tell you herself, but I felt it best if she took your advice and got some fresh air. She said that there is a very evil, perhaps vengeance seeking, spirit trying to “take you over”; I felt the presence myself when she vacated the room. Jeanette asks you to be very careful.”

“Err, right, thanks…” he acknowledged the advice with a short nod and started up the cold concrete, feeling the trailing brush of now clammy fingers on his shoulder. He really hoped that was just meant to be a comforting pat from the concerned father and nothing else…..

~TBC~

 

_A/N ** If you’ve ever watched Dr. Who…the creepiest villains on this show, in my opinion, are the Weeping Angels. So visualize those “Angels” as Johnny’s “sentries”…._


	9. Chapter 9

**__ **

John Gage sprinted up the staircase, left hand planted firmly on the rough wall and his right hand clutching the trauma box. He found himself purposely scraping his palm against the unfinished surface of the blocks just to make sure everything was real. Even as he conquered the stairs at that rapid pace, however, Mr. LeRue was only a half-step behind him. He reluctantly lifted his hand away from the momentary reality check of the concrete and shook the abused limb before slapping it down on the metal bar of the door. It swung obediently outward, instantly enveloping him in a wave of warm, fragranced air.

He held the door open for the owner and felt a wave of unwarranted and very unprofessional irritation wash over him. He was panting slightly from the rapid flight upwards, yet the creepy old guy hadn’t even broken out into a sweat. In fact, he was breathing quite normally, thank you very much. He was still hovering over his shoulder; apparently the man didn’t know the meaning of personal space. At least he had removed his talon like fingers from his shoulder, although he swore he could still feel them. Resisting a very strong urge to plant a palm on Mr. LeRue’s chest and shove him backwards, Gage instead moved forward at a pace he considered reasonable. He ignored the faint whisper of sound that told him he was still being followed, stalked, or whatever it was the funeral home owner seemed to be so good at.

Johnny headed straight for the doors, hoping those grim faced statues that were flanking them hadn’t chained the doors closed or blocked them with their gigantic wings. He was only a few feet into his attempt at escaping, however, when a thunking sound from the room that housed the lovely coffins on display caused him to pause. He reluctantly swung his head and his attention in that direction. A flash of uniform blue in the far corner told him that at least one of their guys was in there and he entered. He slowed his long legged stride as he took in the scene, feeling a flash of absurd giddiness as Mr. LeRue finally demagnetized himself from his back and circled around the room in the opposite direction.

There were six coffins in the spacious room, each resting on a silk covered platform. All of them had their lids propped open except for the last one in the meticulously spaced rows. Behind that one was where John got a glimpse of Chet’s curly head bending down as he cut down the wide aisle between two of the lavishly appointed boxes; he wondered curiously if they even made the things out of wood anymore. His mind wandered briefly to the western the men had viewed last week at the station; a row of the oddly shaped, hastily constructed boxes lined up and waiting for their occupants as the gun battle had ensued on the main street of the town.

He rounded around the corner of the last coffin and let out a yelp of surprise as he stumbled over Marco, who was crouching on the cushy carpet and peering up at the edge of the burnished tones of the deep burgundy coffin. Both men went down in a sprawling heap of legs and arms; the trauma box flew from Johnny’s hand and settled crookedly on its lid several feet away. Chet somehow got caught up in the melee and ended up on the floor alongside of them, his head out of sight under the yards of fussy, velvety fabric that shrouded the stands.

“For Pete’s sake, Gage!” Kelly exclaimed, worming his way feet first out of the claustrophobic space. “Watch your big feet!”

“Right…like mine are bigger than yours,” Johnny muttered, rising to his elbows and trying to draw out his legs out from underneath Lopez.

Marco grinned sheepishly and clambered awkwardly to his feet, reaching out automatically to steady himself on a solid surface; his fingers touched the coffin and he snatched his hand back.

“Whoops,” he said softly. He glanced towards Mr. LeRue, who was regarding all of them with arched eyebrows over his oval shaped eyes, his mouth stretched in a facsimile of a smile. Marco couldn’t help the faint shiver of his whole body as his eyes kept straying back to the man’s face; his fingers involuntarily went up to the tiny cross around his neck and touched it. The owner’s face reminded him of the masks he and his cousins had made for the Day of the Dead holiday several years ago, pale almost translucent skin stretched tight over prominent cheekbones and jaw, huge black eyes that seemed to be staring right through him, and those thin, greyish lips…..

A furious draft of frigid air whistled past him and the senior lineman pivoted, the man and masks forgotten, as he clutched at the chain that seemed to be tightening around his neck. He felt the fragile links break under his frantic pull as the swirling draft seemed to pause in its single minded journey and eddy darkly about him. For the briefest moment, Lopez felt the tantalizing lure of something evil, touching, caressing, stroking his skin with promising fingers….before it swooped away. He jerked his head to follow the billowing whirlwind, which to his amazement appeared to be growing visible – a mass of impossibly gathering air growing blacker by the moment and sucking the molecules from the room.

He started violently when something else brushed against his foot; he forced himself to look downwards and knew a moment of relief when he saw that it was Gage bending over, picking up the paramedic tools that had apparently fallen out of the pouch on his belt. Johnny stood up, flashing Marco a rueful grin, and raised a hand partway as if to say something. He froze; the astonished look flicking across his face was replaced by horror as he was propelled backwards by the ominous grey black whoosh and slammed into the incongruous, soothing color of the wall.

The next few seconds felt like time was suspended; all that remained in the display room were the two men and the menacing shadow of darkness. All sound had been leached from the space and the air was thick, distorted, and barely breathable, as if they had been transported underwater. Lopez watched, unable to move, as Gage remained flattened against the wall and the dark cloud hovered ominously in front of the wide eyed paramedic. The boiling, seething mass had no discernible shape, but seemed to be sinuously coiling itself into something recognizable. The mass swelled in size, taking on the vague shape of a human and reaching out two thick, rolling lengths that resembled arms…Johnny flung up his own arms and uttered an inhuman cry.

The piercing noise shattered the wrathful, vile bubble they were trapped in. The lineman blinked twice, drew in a choking breath, and swallowed hard to relieve the pressure building in his ears. He jumped when a hand came down on his arm and stared incredulously at John, who was regarding him quizzically and appeared perfectly fine. Marco quickly shrugged off the hand with a quiver of revulsion and chanced a fast glance around him. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary; in fact Mr. LeRue was extending a hand towards Chet to help him off the floor as if the last horrifying fifteen seconds had not occurred. Surely he hadn’t imagined that vile spirit, that ghost, that blob of black, horrifying air?

He turned his head back towards Gage, who was still next to him. The younger man had crossed his arms and was blatantly staring at him, his eyes slitted to a mere line and his whole pose suggesting annoyance and impatience. He jerked his head towards the row of coffins, breaking the unnerving, piercing glare of accusation.

“What’s going on here?” Johnny demanded, his voice oddly pitched and sarcasm curled up in it like a cat on a cushion.

Marco raised his eyebrows questioningly but lowered his eyes from Gage when the gesture was ignored. Apprehension swam in his stomach to the point where he thought he was going to be physically sick; something was definitely wrong here and it felt like the tendrils of evil were either emanating from the uncharacteristically rude and unprofessional paramedic, or were slithering towards him from the owner of the mortuary. As if the hallucination he had experienced only moments before had poured itself into……

Shuddering, Lopez forced his bounding emotions down and gazed at his hand; he had completely forgotten what he still had clutched there in a white knuckled grip. He opened his fist and gazed unflinchingly at the broken chain and cross draped across his palm. A tiny sound escaped him as he realized he had not conjured up the scene that had just played out; maybe nobody else had been witness to the evil that had threatened and stalked them, but he was absolutely sure of it.

Dismissing his silent crewmate for a moment, Marco remembered his thoughts as he had viewed Mr. LeRue up close for the first time. He turned with a jerk and reluctantly peered towards the other two men in the room. He missed the sly smile and the green eyed lance of amusement directed towards his sweat soaked back by John Gage.

Chet Kelly and Mr. LeRue looked back at him. Chet seemed to be out of character himself, for the usually talkative man was mute. Marco waved an apologetic hand as he stepped forward and pointed at the coffin, realizing he was going to have to explain what had brought the two linemen into this room.

“Ummm, I’m really sorry about that, Sir. We heard a thumping sound coming from over here; it sounds like someone is stuck in this, uh, coffin, but we can’t get it opened...”

“Gantry,” Mr. LeRue snarled, his lips drawing farther and revealing his yellowed teeth.

He leapt forward with one hand outstretched and the other raised high in the air. Marco hastily jumped back, eyes widening at the sudden and threatening movement. Even while his body was responding with a surge of adrenaline, his brain, which was now ploughing through the fields of death and mayhem, made an absurd leap; he felt like a stalk of wheat waiting for the reaper to mow him under. Only this was the Grim Reaper in skeleton form and wearing a black suit, scythe in hand….

Marco’s audible gulp of relief was covered up by the sound of Mr. LeRue slapping the lifted hand upon the polished surface of the coffin. He pushed firmly down and used his other hand to fumble for and release a hidden latch. He drew back his hands and stepped backwards, raising his arms as dramatically as a magician levitating a body from a table. Three pairs of unblinking eyes followed the lid in morbid fascination as it began an incredibly, horrifying slow rise…….

~TBC~

 


	10. Chapter 10

Roy gently closed the compartment door of the squad and moved back over to the rear bumper where the young lady of the house was now residing quite comfortably. She was leaning her back against the truck and surveying Mike Stoker, who was still diligently maintaining his pose at the front of the engine. Captain Stanley was half situated in the cab, one long leg on the step and the rest of his body partly perched on the passenger seat. He had the radio in his hand but his attention seemed to be directed at the funeral home.

“He misses out on all the fun, doesn’t he?” Jeanette queried, flapping a hand towards the engineer and looking up at Roy with a placid smile. He thought she appeared to be surprisingly calm after the excited behavior she had displayed earlier in the basement.

“I suppose he does, sometimes,” Roy answered, thinking about his own studying he was doing for the upcoming engineer’s exam. “Are you sure you’re ok, Miss?”

“Yes, of course. So very foolish of me….are you married, Mr. DeSoto?”

“Uh, yes, yes I am.” He shot her a puzzled look; she had already fixated her stare back on Stoker and was thoughtfully running a finger up and down her cheek.

“What about him?” She tipped her chin up, indicating the lanky man across from them who was now gazing in the direction of the front doors.

“Him too,” Roy said, wondering who was going to be next in her apparent pursuit of a husband and a possible father for her child. He decided he’d better not volunteer any information about the marital status of the three single guys of the crew; he’d never live it down, especially with his often mood jumping partner.

“Mmmmph,” Jeanette sighed, reaching into the pocket of her oversized lab coat and pulling out a pack of gum. She pulled out a yellow wrapped stick and offered the pack to DeSoto, who shook his head. He turned back to look at the gruesome stone angels and wondered what was taking so long for the rest of the men to exit. He hadn’t noticed either of the linemen on his way out, so where were they?

~eeeEEEeee~

The other men of the Station 51 crew were standing motionless and gawking as the coffin lid continued rising on its own. The tension in the suffocating stillness of the suddenly tiny room was palpable, and Marco involuntarily crossed his arms which broke his frozen stance. He needed to check on Johnny, who was still standing behind him emitting waves of some unfathomable emotion, but he couldn’t seem to tear his attention away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

The lid stopped its slow ascent and the quivering balloon of terror, disbelief, or whatever it was shattered as Mr. LeRue stepped forward and stretched a bony arm into the interior. There was a low pitched squawk and the arm and the hand attached to it resurfaced, clutching the shirt of a young man in his late teens.

“I must extend my apologies to you all, gentlemen. This is my son Gantry, who appears to have forgotten all about the rules of playing in the merchandise,” Mr. LeRue said flatly, releasing his son’s shirt and smoothly gliding one step back, a dark and forbidding look flitting across his face before it settled back into its customary placid expression.

Marco shot his glance back to the older teenager, who was attempting an awkward climb out of the casket. Chet had shaken out of his trance and was lending a helping hand, although the rather pudgy youth almost crashed both of them to the ground with his clumsiness. The boy looked nothing like his skeletal, pale father; in fact, he was exactly the opposite with his sizeable girth, closely shorn head and very pink cheeks. And the hair…….geesh, the poor kid looked like he was descended from werewolves. It curled out from under the neck of his plaid shirt and coated his bare arms like a shag rug. Lopez felt bad, but he was glad the kid was wearing bell bottom pants instead of shorts.

He shrank back as Kelly encouraged the grinning, unrepentant son past him and out the door, half expecting to see claws extend out of the kid’s fingers. Except for the swishing sound of Gantry’s purple corduroys, their departure was noiseless; Marco almost flew out of his boots when Mr. LeRue slapped his shoulder with a bony hand and pointed towards Gage.

Marco’s mouth dropped open at the sight of his fellow fireman, on his hands and knees, crawling away from them around the end of the coffin.

“Johnny?” Lopez queried anxiously, getting in only one step forward before the paramedic leapt to his feet and bolted out of the room. There was a loud thud as he apparently ran into something in the wide hallway and a high pitched, profanity laced exclamation; silence descended upon the two men in the display room like a suffocating shroud.

Muttering his own obscenity in his mind, the thoroughly confused lineman whirled around and loped into the hallway, pausing to look up and down the wide space. There was no sign of humans or even destruction; the several ornate chairs and narrow tables that adorned the area all remained in place. He bared his teeth in a grimace of frustration and decided the best move would be to head outside.

“Mr. Lopez….” The smooth voice of the owner stopped him in his tracks and Marco did a slow turn. He accepted the black trauma box with a sincere smile of thanks, but when he turned to leave once again his movement was halted by the talon like fingers tapping his arm.

“I believe this is yours, also,” Mr. LeRue intoned, Marco’s chain and cross dangling from a chalky hued finger.

_“Well, there goes the vampire theory that was running through my head,”_ Lopez thought, gingerly pulling the necklace from the extended phalange and shoving it into the pocket of his pants. “ _Now all I have to do is worry about that teenage werewolf out there and whether or not Gage is still around or halfway to Mexico by now.”_

He thanked the man once again, but with words this time and a half smile that definitely did not reach his eyes. It didn’t help his jittery nerves any when an arm shot out; it brushed his shoulder, and the same finger that had held his chain pointed menacingly towards the exit doors. Lopez stared at the long, yellow hued nail in macabre fascination, almost missing the warning that rumbled out of Mr. LeRue’s mouth.

“Beware,” he cautioned, an odd hissing sound underlying his words. “He is not he.”

Marco could only nod, afraid to take a breath. The smell of death, darkness, and an approaching horror seemed to be descending around him; he wasn’t sure if it was coming from the man or the funeral home but it was definitely going to choke him, or worse, if he didn’t make like a bat and fly out.

“Yes,” he croaked in acknowledgement, focusing in on the brown hued wood of his escape. The twenty plus steps it took for him to reach the handles of the massive doors seemed to take an eternity; each hard fought stride was like a pull through a vat of maple syrup, excruciatingly slow.

He shouldered through them with an audible grunt and blinked as blinding but welcoming sunlight drove away the black gloom about to suffocate him. Walking carefully, he approached the engine where Chet was in animated conversation with Gantry Jr; he was relieved to see that John was also present and accounted for. He could see his dark hair and his side profile through the closed window of the squad. He changed direction aruptly as he remembered the box swinging from his hand.

Trodding past DeSoto, who was standing at the back of the rescue truck, Marco jerked his head towards the cab and mouthed Johnny’s name. As it appeared that Roy was trying to distract Mr. LeRue’s daughter with minute shifts of his body and some lively conversation, the lineman thought it best not to speak Gage’s name out loud. He was pretty sure that was where the girl was trying to go and thought it best if he didn’t encourage that action.

Roy shrugged his shoulders and fractionally shook his head at Marco’s silent question. His partner had come flying out of the funeral home and flew into the cab of the squad, ignoring everybody. The window had been cranked up just as fast. Roy hadn’t had time to ponder the strange antics of the normally friendly and sociable Gage as Jeanette’s calm had deserted her and she had started mouthing little phrases such as “oh no”, “she’s back” and “not again” repeatedly. He wasn’t sure if he should just let her accost John, or hold her back. He elected for the latter and could only reply to Marco with body language; by that time he had gotten the girl gentled down enough that he thought he might be able to persuade her to go back inside their business.

Watching Marco stow the medical box into the compartment out of the corner of his eye, Roy gently steered the young lady in the direction of her brother, who had finished his conversation with Chet and was impatiently gesturing towards her.

“Come on Sis, you can help me with the old man. He really is gonna skin me alive for that coffin stunt….”

“Oh, Gantry, you didn’t do it again, did you?” Jeanette asked, looking towards the squad as her brother grasped her arm and towed her towards the front door. She shot a beseeching plea towards Roy, who nodded in understanding and watched the two vanish within before turning to the object of her concern.

He couldn’t see Johnny, as Marco had moved up to the passenger door of the squad and appeared to be involved in an animated conversation with the paramedic within, via the now opened window. Whatever was being said was cut off by their captain’s bellow from the cab of the engine.

“Lopez! Let’s get moving!”

The lineman pulled back from the truck and cast a nervous glance at Roy as he passed him. “Watch out for him,” he said cryptically, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Watch…..” DeSoto started to ask, unsure of whether the other man meant keep an eye on Johnny, or watch his own back. But Marco had already loped hurriedly to the now rumbling Crown, and Roy realized his pending question was being addressed to air. He sighed in resignation and grabbed his helmet off the top of the squad before making his way to the driver’s side, unable to see the usually placid Marco waving his hands in frustration as he tried to get a straight answer from Kelly.

“Whadja mean, what color are Gage’s eyes?” Chet asked with a leer, batting his own eyes coquettishly at his fellow fireman. “I didn’t think he was your type.”

“Come on, Chet, this is serious,” Marco hissed, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the throaty purr as Mike pulled the engine away from the curb. “It’s got to do with what we were discussing at the station!”

“Oh,” Kelly responded sheepishly, rubbing his hand over his chin and looking quickly towards their captain. Sure that the two men in front couldn’t hear their conversation, he leaned closer. “I don’t know, I guess brown or hazel. Why?”

Lopez slumped down in his seat, his face a mask of puzzlement and worry. “Because….because when I finally got Johnny to look at me over there, his eyes were green! Green, they were very green, like the eyes of a cat!”

~eeeEEEeee~

“Did you call us in as available?” Roy asked, eyeing his friend suspiciously. Johnny shook his head and continued running his hands down his body in a searching manner, ignoring the annoyed, very audible exhale of breath Roy responded with. Grabbing the mic, DeSoto made them available and headed towards the station, ready for a strong cup of coffee and some aspirin.

When Gage made a noise of amusement, Roy kept his eyes straight ahead, not willing to see what part of the anatomy had garnered that odd snort of laughter. He was relieved when the radio chirped and the dispatcher’s voice broke the weird and strained atmosphere that was increasing the dull throb behind his eyes. Noting that John was ignoring the voice emitting from headquarters – in fact his attention was now focused on the search light mounted outside of his still opened window, Roy grabbed the mic with a growl and responded to the call of a man down. There was no need to write down the address, as it involved the cemetery only a mile away from the mortuary.

“Johnny!” Roy snarled, but his growing annoyance and anger gave way to worry as he snatched up his helmet from the seat and tightened the chin strap. He remembered Marco’s words and his anxiety heightened as the other distracted paramedic ignored his helmet reminding exclamation and continued playing with the light. It was only when DeSoto drove under the ornate archway gracing the entrance to the cemetery that Johnny suddenly seemed to snap from his distracted state.

“Why?” he demanded, his voice unusually high pitched and radiating distress. “Why here?”

“Because that’s where our call is….what’s wrong with you, John?” Roy asked patiently, taking the right fork of the narrow paved road as he spied a man waving frantically. He twisted his head quickly to see what the problem was; noting the rectangular shaped hole and the backhoe he let out an incredulous sigh. His lips thinning in concentration, he braked the squad to a halt slightly ahead and to the side of the gesturing man, unable to drive the truck off the paved surface to get closer and wanting to leave room for the unwieldy engine behind them. Opening his door and stepping out, he flicked a look back at Gage, who remained planted solidly in his seat. He let out another sigh, this one of impatience. “Get a belt and rope, Johnny; it looks like this guy’s friend took himself six feet under.”

An odd screech rose from the passenger seat and Roy froze, the hairs on his body standing up in disbelief and horror. He whipped back around and lowered his head to look back through the opened door. He could hear the engine pulling in behind them, although the strident tones now coming from across the cab’s expanse of beige were drowning out some of the noise. His partner appeared to be hyperventilating himself into a state of panic. His eyes were closed, black lashes vividly standing out against the ghostly white of his skin. His head was thrown back against the glass of the back window; one hand was clutching at his convulsing throat, while the other was braced on the dash.

“Johnny…..” Roy said softly, noting the trickle of sweat sliding down the side of his face. “Take slow, even breaths….”

“I……” He choked off whatever he was going to say and inhaled with a ragged, gasping intake of breath; he suddenly began breathing in and out in harsh, short pants.

“ _Good grief_ ,” Roy thought, as he recognized the familiar sound _. “He sounds like JoAnne did before they kicked me out of the delivery room, both times!”_

Whatever unusual technique Gage was using so efficiently, it seemed to be working as his breathing began to return to normal. Roy caught movement out of the corner of his eye and realized Captain Stanley was advancing towards them in his no nonsense stride.

“We’re both going to be in that hole if we don’t get a move on!” DeSoto warned, pulling back and thumping the door closed.

A shrill scream penetrated the closed window of Roy’s door. “No! I won’t go back in there!”

What happened next would haunt Roy DeSoto for many days and nights to follow; it would awaken him from a sound sleep, invade his dreams and turn them into nightmares, reach its long fingers into his memory and stroke it into troubled thoughts during his waking moments…

~TBC~

_Thanks for reading, and the feedback!_

_Happy Halloween!!!_

 


	11. Chapter 11

**_ Chapter 11 _ **

Mouth opened in an oval of incredulous disbelief, Roy could only watch as the cab seemed to fill with oily, black streamers of smoke that quickly thickened. They wound sinuously through the confined area, blurring and then sharpening into focus with a tantalizing, mesmerizing rhythm that left him momentarily rooted in place. As he stared transfixed, the smoke seemed to be solidifying into something solid. Two long tentacles slithered out of the mass and wound about Gage like a python immobilizing its prey.

When the tentacles began transforming into sausage like appendages that resembled fingers, five on each long arm, the blonde paramedic snapped his mouth closed and sprang into action. Blowing his breath out in a ragged exhale, he slapped his palm against the glass of the window as his other hand moved to the door handle; the button refused to give under his pressing thumb. He yanked at the handle, refusing to believe that the door had locked itself.

“What the devil?” Hank Stanley was beside him now and Roy was unable to put his thoughts into coherent words. He tore his gaze from the terrifying yet hypnotizing spectacle before him and glanced at his captain, who was standing about two feet away from him and gazing at him in obvious annoyance. Could the sharp eyed man not see what was occurring inside the tight confinement of the cab? Even now, as he whipped his head back towards the truck he swore he could feel the vehicle vibrating from the tornado that seemed to be swirling within.

“Johnny’s down,” he finally managed to croak out, even though he could no longer see his partner through the undulating, shaping twirls of smoke and had no idea if he was even in there.

“Try the key….” Came the calm reply, and DeSoto mentally added on “you twit” to the captain’s words. He fumbled the key out of his pocket and somehow managed to slide it into the lock and turn it despite his clumsiness. This time the button on the handle yielded and the door moved outward with agonizing slowness, but only about a quarter of an inch. The maelstrom within seemed to be sucking all of the air from the cab, effectively preventing him from pulling it open.

Roy grunted, both hands now gripping the handle and tugging with a ferocity he didn’t realize he possessed. There was a sudden whoosh and even as his brain registered the noise for what it was the door was released from its vacuum. He hit the ground, on his rump, with a hard thud. He stared upwards, unbelieving, as the twisting, swirling smoke edged ominously out of the cab and enveloped him in its complete blackness, obscuring his vision and blanketing the rest of his senses.

His hands went up to his neck as the thick mass coiled around it and tightened; snaking tendrils wound about him like a scarf but they were definitely not intent on enhancing his wardrobe. The same serpent like form that had suffocated John in its death grip was now intent on claiming another soul. He slapped in panic; his hands touched nothing but his own skin.

Gasping for breath, DeSoto forced himself to relax. He deliberately dropped his clawing hands and took as deep a breath as he could. The results were immediate. The loop loosened and seemed to shift shape, splintering into several pieces that seductively stroked his face. Roy resisted the urge to throw up his arms once again and brush away the tickling tendrils; instead he resolutely stared straight ahead as he pushed off the ground and struggled to his feet. A hand clapping down on his shoulder jolted him into a wide eyed panic; he realized it was Captain Stanley only as he spun around and raised his fists in a defensive move.

The thick eyebrows of his leader rose upwards in a questioning arc. DeSoto slumped in relief and glanced warily about; only the hazy pollution tainted air of the county appeared around him. The dark, threatening mass had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He sucked in a shuddering gulp of air and then whirled about to poke his head into the cab. The empty expanse of beige seat met his searching look but the opened passenger door gave him a measure of hope that his partner had somehow bolted to safety.

The firm hand of his captain came down on his shoulder again, tugging him backward. “He’s over there by the backhoe…..when this is done you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Yes Sir,” Roy gulped out, unable to believe that Hank had seen nothing of what had happened. He tipped his head to check and saw that John was indeed over by the mound of dirt to the side of the new grave, busy cinching on his safety belt.

He handed off the trauma box and biophone, grabbed the splint box, and followed Stanley across the dew touched grass to the rectangular shaped hole in the ground. Johnny was now in the deep pit, crouched by the young man’s legs, while Marco was kneeling in the tight space by the victim’s head. Roy set down the box next to the backhoe, carefully stepping over the two lines secured to the heavy piece of machinery. Chet and the man who had waved them down were engrossed in a conversation and he listened while constantly sweeping the area for signs of that thing, that apparition…or whatever it had been.

“Kid’s first day on the job, and what’s he go and do? You think he can listen to directions? Everybody knows they’re only six foot deep, but that idiot goes and scoops out the blasted thing almost double that, and then goes and falls right in it. I’m telling ya, it’s hard to find good help nowadays, especially ones that can count and measure, and aren’t hopped up on drugs. You know what I’m saying?”

The worker continued on his tirade, only pausing long enough to turn his head and spit out a stream of dark tobacco. Kelly leaped back, but not quick enough, and sidled sideways, trying to scrape off his soiled boot. Roy felt a bit of his anxiety sliding away and allowed a tiny smile as the captain stepped up and guided the older man away from all of them, trying to solicit some information but having a hard time breaking through the string of complaints. As the paramedic peered down into the deep abyss, out of the corner of his eye he caught the furtive motion of Chet slinking out of sight and wondered what that was about.

“We need the basket, and a traction splint down here!” Gage shouted.

Kelly suddenly reappeared, shooting a funny look in DeSoto’s direction as he shot past. Within ten minutes the new but probably now jobless employee was on his way to the hospital with a broken leg. Since he had refused any pain relief or IVs, the paramedics had been released from the follow up and were packing up their equipment. The two linemen were standing nearby, coiling up the ropes and carrying on a whispered conversation. Roy knew it had everything to do with Gage and the strange happenings; Marco had given him a very fast but condensed version of what had transpired at the Gantry Funeral Home as they had followed the stokes carrying paramedic and Kelly across the grass.

As Roy shelved the orange box, he flicked his gaze towards Johnny, again, observing his movements and trying to calculate his state of mind. He had appeared perfectly normal during the rescue and the treatment of their victim. If anything, he had seemed extremely focused, almost as if he was making an extra effort to stay on track.

“What gives? You’re giving me a complex, looking at me that way!” Johnny demanded, glaring in irritation at his partner as he slammed the two compartment doors closed; Roy jerked his hand out of the way within a second of losing it.

He guiltily dropped his head and bit his lip, trying to decide how to word his questions without sounding like a complete idiot. He rested a hand on the side of the squad and swung around to face his partner, determined to get to the bottom of the whole business. The scuff of feet on gravel drew his notice and he half turned to watch the approach of both Chet and Marco.

“Say, Roy…..” Marco asked, glancing nervously at Gage, who had assumed a defensive stance; he had his arms crossed and his back up against the truck. Roy really didn’t blame him since the last time the two friends had banded together they had tried to force an exorcism on him.

“What was the sister’s name, you know, the one that haunted, errr, interrupted the séance the other night on your run?” Chet asked, either oblivious to or not correctly interpreting the narrowed eyes, clenched jaw, and intense anger radiating off the younger paramedic. He looked like he was ready to launch himself off the truck and take out both linemen in one move.

“Uh, Alice, I believe, but I don’t know the last name,” DeSoto replied, trying to take in all the strange body postures and expressions that were being displayed by the 51’s firemen.

“Well, there’s a new grave over there one row over from where that kid fell in; the name on the little card is Alice Baylor and her date of death is last month. Don’t you think that’s a little too much of a coincidence?” Chet questioned breathlessly, his voice raising as he spoke and his hands waving. He snatched the neatly coiled rope before it fell out of his grasp and impatiently looped it over his arm while moving a few steps closer.

Marco let out a warning hiss and jerked his head in the direction of the freshly dug hole. “Look out, I think we’re all going to be into mucho trouble; the Cap is bearing down on us and I think that’s steam coming out of his ears….”

All the heads turned simultaneously to observe the business like striding gait of Captain Stanley, who had apparently finished up with the loquacious worker and the sheriff’s deputy; he was now heading their way. As Lopez had warned, the look on his face didn’t portend a pleasurable discussion.

“Don’t you,” Stanley began, throwing each man a glance that held the promise of further retribution, “gentlemen have somewhere that you really need to be?”

A chorus of affirmative replies met his question, coiled ropes were promptly stored, and the men dispersed to their respective vehicles. As he climbed into the squad, Roy hesitated as their captain muttered something as he stalked by. To the very edgy medic, it sounded something like “I wonder where that rain cloud disappeared to?”

Running a hand over his face, Roy slid the rest of the way in. He started up the truck and pulled out onto the graveled drive, following the circle that wound around the back of the cemetery. The road eventually led back to the main gates and Roy purposely turned left when they exited out onto the main road; he had no desire to drive by that funeral home even though it meant a several mile detour.

He chanced a fast look at Johnny, who was staring straight ahead through the dusty windshield, tapping his fingers on his right hand in an aimless, nervous rhythm on the track of his opened window; his left hand was gingerly pulling the fabric of his shirts away from his stomach. Probably sore from the belt, Roy mused and sympathized, having felt that discomfort many times.

He rolled down his own window, not liking the faint tinge of sulfur, smoke, or whatever it was that was lingering in the small space. When he rolled to a stop at a red light, he stuck his head out and looked up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight, only diesel plumes of smoke wafting upwards from the ancient, rumbling truck in front of them. So maybe Captain Stanley had seen some of that thing escaping from the inside of the cab…..

When he glanced back over at his friend, Johnny was pulling his green pen from his pocket. A yellow wrapped stick of gum fell out; Gage stared at it for a moment before holding it up with two fingers.

“Where did this come from?” He asked, puzzled.

“Uh, maybe from Miss Gantry? She offered me a stick of it while we were waiting for you outside of the mortuary.”

“Oh,” John replied, clearly not remembering how it had ended up in his pocket. He stared at it a moment, shrugged, peeled the wrapper and foil off, and popped it into his mouth. Busy chewing, he grabbed a call slip from the visor and wrote something on it.

“Johnny?” DeSoto asked, making the turn onto Alameda Street.

“Yeah?” The younger man answered in distraction; he stopped his chewing and started looking for something. He slapped at his pockets, ran his hand across the seat, and then started searching the floor.

“What are you looking for?”

“What did I do with the call slip for that last run?” Gage asked, straightening back up and pulling down the sun visor once again. “The one for the cemetery, all I got here is the one for the funeral place.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Roy admitted. “You didn’t write anything down for the last one, you didn’t put your helmet on, and you completely ignored the dispatcher when the call came through.” He almost added “and you totally ignored me too” but decided by the reaction rolling across his partner’s face that it might be just a little too much information at the moment.

“I did what? Or didn’t do…now wait just a cotton picking minute!” Johnny’s voice rose as his shock and disbelief escalated into anger. “What do you mean I didn’t…..oh man…..”

He swallowed hard several times as he thought it over, anger disappearing as quickly as it came. He snapped the visor back up and slumped back into his seat. “You know Roy, come to think of it, I don’t even remember leaving that creepy funeral parlor with those stone angel things guarding the doors.”

Roy made the left turn onto 223rd Street and nodded his head in understanding. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

Johnny rubbed his jaw in thought, and half turned on the seat to face his partner. “Well, before I was standing by that backhoe hooking on my belt, I was checking out what the guys were doing in that, uh, casket room, you know the one where they had them all on display? I fell over Lopez, got up, and picked up my tools that fell out of my pouch and of course Kelly was giving me grief about something. It’s kinda vague after that, although my shoulders are sore so I’m pretty sure I somehow slammed up against the back wall in there. That’s the last thing…” he trailed off and shifted back against the seat with a frown. “Weird, there was some smoke in that room…you don’t think that, that Alice, she…..ah hell!”

There was silence for a moment as DeSoto backed the squad into their station bay next to the already parked engine, turned off the ignition, and pulled the keys out. The two men looked at each other.

“What’s going on, Roy? Do you believe in ghosts now?” John’s voice was harsh, thrumming low and tight with emotion, as he got out, slammed his door, and stalked around the front of their truck. “Or do you think that the Alice chick inhabits my body? The guys seem to think that I’m possessed, maybe they’re right!”

DeSoto closed his door and resisted throwing his hands up in a gesture of defeat, or perhaps weary resignation. He really didn’t believe in ghosts, didn’t buy into the whole idea of the supernatural, aliens, or anything like that couldn’t be logically explained. But yet, he had seen with his own eyes that threatening yet mesmerizing form of smoke that had seemed human in both shape and actions. He had observed Johnny’s odd behavior; plus there was the fact that Marco had witnessed almost the same things, just in a different setting. How did one rationalize two people viewing the same unworldly creature, spirit, or whatever that blob of gas and vapor was?

“I think,” he began, before he was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the men. He clamped his lips together as they ambled to different areas along the side of the engine; having apparently finished their cups of coffee in the kitchen, they were about to begin some routine maintenance. An uneasy quiet drifted through the bay.

Gage shot him a look of desperation before trudging away in the direction of the locker room. Roy broke the silence by slapping the squad with a hand, the only way he felt he could express his own frustration at the moment. Even though both Lopez and Kelly were staring at him with questioning looks, there was no way he was going to continue this discussion with the linemen because Captain Stanley had paused to speak to Stoker. He was already in enough trouble with their leader without him overhearing a rambling, crazy discourse on one of their own. The two men seemed to be in complete agreement as they busied themselves with their appointed tasks and nonchalantly discussed plans for supper.

Several long minutes later John rejoined them in the garage and their captain disappeared back into the kitchen. Chet began a long winded tale of a trip to the bowling alley and how the young lady in the lane next to him had thrown two gutter balls in a row – in his lane. While he elaborated on her motives, the engine crew checked and cleaned their equipment; DeSoto inventoried the drug box and Johnny tested the oxygen from the squad. Because of the proximity of Hank Stanley, who had the fine hearing of a bat, the lineman’s story was met with amused and disbelieving smirks but no comments about the boasting.

The captain reappeared shortly thereafter, inquiring as to how close they were to finishing. His plans for a street and hydrant drill in the Hyland Parks development in five minutes were thwarted when the klaxons sounded. He moved over to the mic to acknowledge the call and Johnny and Roy got into the cab. They settled their helmets on their heads; Stanley handed the slip of paper through the window to DeSoto who promptly passed it to his partner.

John studied the address, his lips tightening and eyes narrowing. “You recognize this address?”

“Clinton Street wasn’t it?” Roy asked, pulling cautiously into the street and then accelerating.

“Not just Clinton Street, 1012 Clinton Steet….as in the home of the TEAL family,” he replied emphatically, stressing the name and shoving the call slip with a disgusted motion up onto the sun visor.

“Ahhh…” Roy replied, the memory of that “thing” in the squad washing over him. He involuntarily touched a hand to his neck, shuddering at the evil that had seemed to flood off of the unexplainable, smoke appearing apparition. The only good thing about the home they were heading towards was the strong possibility that Alice had returned there - which would be a reprieve for the man next to him; unfortunately it also meant a bad situation for Mr. Teal if they were calling for assistance…….

~TBC~

 


	12. Chapter 12

**__ **

Roy followed Mr. Teal out of the house through the front door; Johnny led the way at a fast clip carrying the boxes and heading for the squad parked crookedly at the curb. After locating the car keys, Mrs. Teal had disappeared into the garage to back up their car. The three men had cleverly tricked her into taking her husband to the doctor; in reality, she was the one that they wanted the Teals’ personal physician, Dr. Thomas, to evaluate. They stood in the green grass of the front yard and waited for her.

“Mr. Teal, could I ask you a couple of questions? Kinda weird questions, if you wouldn’t mind?” Roy asked, hearing the sound of the overhead garage door rolling upwards as well as the familiar thump of boxes going into their truck’s compartment. His eyes flicked towards the last noise and then slid back to the man standing next to him.

“Sure, I don’t mind. You fellas have been more than understanding with my wife’s, well, her little episodes,” he responded, raising a hand to touch the white bandage Roy had wrapped around his head. Roy gave a little shake of his head, wondering if Mr. Teal’s fall upstairs had anything to do with Mrs. Teal’s sister, or if it had been just an accident like the man had stoutly claimed. *

“I was just curious, what was Alice’s last name and what color were her eyes?” DeSoto asked, eyes straying back to his partner who was now crouched down on the sidewalk and searching for something on the floor in the cab.

“You’re right, they are odd questions….” he paused and Roy wondered if he had overstepped. “Her name was Baylor, Alice Baylor and her eyes were a very pale green, peculiar looking. Hypnotizing actually, they really caught my attention when I first saw her.”

Mr. Teal turned and watched as his wife slowly backed the Ford out of the garage. There was silence for a brief moment and Roy was surprised when Mr. Teal laid a hand on his arm, the grip light but desperate. His eyes, now staring at the paramedic, were full of worry.

“Do you think the doctors can help her?” He asked hopefully, limply dropping his hand. His next words were muffled as he lifted the same hand and splayed the fingers over his face, but the sadness was still evident. “Is she crazy?”

“I don’t think she’s crazy; it’s more like she is unable to cope with her grief,” Roy said slowly, wondering exactly what Mr. Teal would say if he knew the unbelievable things that had been occurring the last several days with Johnny. He sure didn’t believe it, and he had been a witness to most of it! And those green eyes, was that just a coincidence? He would have to ask Marco if he was absolutely sure that he had seen that.

“You know, I dated Alice a few times, and then I met her sister Dorothy. I hate to use that old cliché, but it was love at first sight for both us.” He paused, his troubled eyes moving back to his wife who was now moving the seat back and forth in an attempt to get it just right. “We didn’t want to hurt Alice, but there was no possible way for us to ignore the way we felt about each other….”

Roy nodded in understanding. “So, Alice didn’t take it too well when you started dating her sister.”

“Yes, and that’s an understatement,” he agreed. “That’s when I found out how manipulative and conniving she really was.  I can completely understand her being hurt, jealous, even angry, but she went way beyond those emotions with her words and ultimately with her actions. Alice never forgave either of us for getting married, and I’m ashamed to say that when I discovered her true nature, I encouraged my wife to keep her distance.”

“You can’t be blamed for that,” the paramedic argued quietly, his attention ping ponging back and forth between Harry Teal’s anguish and Gage’s confusing movements. Just what was Johnny doing in there anyway? His partner’s searching had turned a little frantic; he had risen to his feet and was half hidden in the recesses of the truck. And just how far had Alice taken her anger? For that matter, how had she died? Of natural causes, or had it been something more sinister? That probably should have been the first thing that he asked, but it was too late now. He didn’t want to press any further with that very personal question, and to tell the truth, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“They were very close before Dorothy and I started dating. That’s something I could never understand either, since my wife is so sweet and innocent, the complete opposite of Alice. You would think that they would fight like cats and dogs.” Mr. Teal’s voice had calmed down, sliding into bewilderment.

“Yin and Yang,” DeSoto muttered, his own confusion and anxiety rising as John abandoned his quest for the unknown object and took off across the lawn towards the Teal car. He jogged over to the passenger side, poked his head through the opened window, and then began adjusting the mirror apparently at Dorothy’s direction.

Roy heaved a sigh of relief at the normal proceedings. But still, best to separate Johnny from both of the Teals before anything weird happened.

“Now let me ask you a question, young man. Your partner, he thinks my wife is crazy, doesn’t he? I heard his little whistle of, well, disbelief if you will, as I was leaving the kitchen,” Harry asked, and the words stopped Roy before he even had a chance to step in the direction he wanted to go.

“No, no I don’t think that is it at all,” he replied, twitching a little under the direct, piercing stare Mr. Teal was bestowing upon him; he could now hear the sound, but not the words, of a strange voice that seemed to be coming from the direction of the parked car. A voice that definitely did not belong to Dorothy Teal, which meant…….so much for the brief hope that everything would go along smoothly. “My frie….er, my partner John is very sensitive to things like that, and uh…well, let’s get you and your wife to your doctor, okay?”

He knew he sounded like an idiot but he needed to get to Gage, now. He didn’t miss the sudden flaring of Mr. Teal’s nostrils nor the surprised jerk of his head as he heard the odd voice; recognition flashed across the man’s face followed quickly by a look of horror. There was no further communication as both men hurried across the lawn and over to the silver Thunderbird. Harry hesitated and then stopped abruptly at the front fender of the car, shaking his head in disbelief and obviously doubting what he had just heard for an uncanny silence had descended over the car.

Roy shot him a quick glance as he brushed by him; the lack of sound might be comforting to Mr. Teal but to the antsy paramedic it was a surreal quiet. There were absolutely no other sounds. Not of birds chirping, wind rustling through the obviously moving leaves on the trees bordering the lawn, or even the annoying clatter of the garbage truck rumbling by on the street. It was if a heavy blanket had dropped upon them and was smothering all signs of life within the tiny rectangle of space they were inhabiting.

A quick glimpse through the windshield as he skirted the front of the car showed a woman staring open mouthed and wide eyed at the lanky figure propped casually on the frame of the passenger window. A second look through the sparkling glass and Mrs. Teal now had both arms stretched out in supplication towards his fellow medic; her mouth seemed to be stretching in speech but he could hear nothing coming out of it through the opened windows.

Roy’s pace increased from a fast walk to a hurried trot as his feet finally caught up to his thoughts. He could feel beads of sweat popping out on his forehead and a sour taste filling his mouth. Was he reading too much into this whole thing? Letting his imagination run away? There had been no ominous clouds of smoke billowing out from the Thunderbird or strange shrieks like before, just that unknown voice that had galvanized Harry into action. And at the cemetery his firmly grounded captain had not observed anything unusual except for Roy’s own peculiar actions. Was he losing his marbles, just dwelling too much on the ghost stories Lopez and Kelly had regaled them with, or had he truly saw and felt the living, winding “thing” that had tried to extinguish him and seemed to delight in tormenting his counterpart?

He didn’t know. Just like he had no clue as to what color Johnny’s eyes were going to be - his own normal hazel to brown, or that green hue that Marco had observed. As he came up behind his partner he reached out a tentative hand and touched Gage’s shoulder; the man leapt backwards with a startled yelp.

“Geez Roy, give a guy a heart attack would ya?” John griped, rolling those questionable eyes and then leaning forward again to stare at Mrs. Teal.

Roy caught only a flash of the rolling eyes, but he did catch the wide, apologetic smile being flashed towards the woman. He couldn’t help his own little eye roll at that casual but very Gage like move but stayed close, a hand resting on the door. He immediately tensed up when he heard the quiet but understandable words that came from Harry’s dark-haired wife…

“Alice, please understand….”

He leapt the tiny space that separated them, grabbing the dark-haired medic by the right arm in a firm grip and yanking him roughly around. There was an exclamation from the other man but Roy was relentless. He snared his left arm, and once he had him firmly held in place facing him bent his head next to his.

Trying to keep the panic out of his voice, he whispered urgently. “JOHN, we need to let Mrs. Teal take her husband to the doctor and…”

A low growl of anger erupted next to his ear and DeSoto realized he may have said the wrong thing if it wasn’t Gage he was trying to reason with. His hold tightened. “We’ve got to get back to the station, now!”

There was a moment of tense indecision and Roy could feel the vibrations coming from Johnny. He reared his head back, trying to see his friend’s face, but Johnny had his head deliberately turned away and his dark eyelashes covered the eyes that Roy so desperately wanted to see. Another second swept by and the usually unflappable man wondered how far he would be able to go if Johnny didn’t back off. Would he be able to physically restrain him or hurt him if need be?

Luckily, the decision was taken from him when he felt the arms he gripped so desperately relax; in fact, he thought for a moment that he wouldn’t be able to hold up the sudden dead weight that half slumped against him. Gage seemed to rally however, shook himself, and straightened. He gave a halfhearted wave to Mrs. Teal, shrugged off the still restraining hands, and headed for their truck.

Letting out his breath in a puff of air, Roy realized the saying “jump out of your skin” was pretty close to the truth when Mr. Teal touched his shoulder. He couldn’t conceal the violent shudder that enveloped his body. He barely heard the apology as he closed his eyes briefly and schooled his features into the professional, bland mask that he could now so easily put on when needed. He turned to face the concerned man.

“It’s fine Mr. Teal, I guess my mind was on other things,” he explained softly, not bothering to bare his teeth in a false smile. Mr. Teal appeared to be very observant and there was no point in even trying to fool him with further words or facial gestures.

“I understand, I think. I used to work with this man that was ten years my junior and there were days where I thought I was more of a mentor, babysitter, and even teacher then I was the fellow’s coworker.” He forced a strained smile and Roy nodded his thanks, accepting the glib excuse Mr. Teal offered up to him and relieved that there was going to be no mention of the unexplained voice they had both heard. As the older man slowly climbed into the car and said something, Roy heard his wife let out a little wail of protest and couldn’t help his convulsive swallow at her words.

“But Harry, I swear, that was Alice!”

~TBC~

*In the episode Séance, the paramedics respond to a third call to the Teal house when Mr. Teal injures himself looking for something upstairs. He claims it was an accident, but his wife is insistent that it is her sister trying to hurt him. As the paramedics follow them out of the kitchen, Johnny does give a little whistle of disbelief – at least that’s how I interpreted it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Roy waited until the Teal car had driven slowly past the squad before cautiously sidling along the side of it. He opened the driver’s door, slid into the seat, started up the engine, and placed his hands on the steering wheel before looking over at his partner. Although, he really wasn’t clear on whether or not it really WAS his partner currently residing on the seat next to him. The hard gaze he was bestowing on his friend wasn’t penetrating his subconscious, unfortunately, for Johnny’s head remained turned away.

“Johnny?” He asked a little louder than he had intended, his right hand abandoning its white knuckled grip as he stretched it out towards Gage palm up.

“Huh?” The head finally turned and Roy was relieved to see the normal brown eyes peering at him, questioning both the inquiry and the outstretched hand. He dropped the hand, feeling foolish.

“I just wanted to know what was going on back there,” he said quietly, making them available and pulling away from the curb. Ahead of them the brake lights of the Teal car flashed on as the vehicle turned off of Clinton Drive. Roy went in the opposite direction, heading back to the barn.

“I….” his reply lapsed into silence as John struggled to come up with the words to describe what had happened. Because this time he had felt something, someone, trying to control his actions and had fought back. Not very well, apparently, as he had patches of memory loss. “You’re not gonna believe anything I say.”

“No, I have to admit that I’m seeing things, hearing things, that can’t be explained, so…..” DeSoto said, keeping up the side glances.

John swallowed hard, and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I felt something this time, maybe because I was focusing so hard on doing my job. You know, usually you do everything instinctively, relying on training, your own common sense…you just do it….”

DeSoto nodded in encouragement, keeping his face schooled to a careful blankness. A wrong look, word, or even the smallest gesture would clam his friend up and cause him to withdraw back into his moody, nervous shell.

“Whatever IT was, seemed to be, I don’t know, trying to invade, control, or something like th...that…...” he floundered to a stuttering halt and threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “God, Roy, I think I’m losing my marbles here.”

“No, you’re not losing your marbles, John; if you are, then I guess I’m losing mine too because I believe there is something going on. What exactly, I don’t know, but definitely something.”

“You do? Seriously? Because Roy, you said very clearly that night when we left the Teal house that you didn’t believe in ghosts and I’m sure that includes any whatevers as well.”

“I also remember you offering to hold my hand if I got scared, does that offer still stand? For right now, my friend, I’m going to admit that I’m both scared and confused,” Roy admitted slowly, finally bringing himself to say the words out loud. If you would have asked him at the beginning of the shift if he would believe in ghosts and little green men only hours later, he would have laughingly denied it. But now, now he was second guessing everything, especially if it had to do with Gage.

“Wow, I’m…speechless.” Johnny finally replied, relaxing a bit in his seat. Considering how tense he had been when he had come in this morning, and then became even edgier as the morning progressed, Roy was glad to see that bit of hope soften the other man’s features.

“I think we need to talk with Marco and Chet, especially Marco, about what we should do. He seems to be well versed in these things, and even Chet may have some good suggestions.”

“Yeah, good old Chet,” Gage mused, rubbing his hands along his pants as if to rid them of something unpleasant. “But you’re right, both of those guys might be able to come up with something, er, interesting.”

“I sure hope so,” Roy muttered under his breath.

~eeeEEEeee~

“I think it’s time for a séance,” Chet decided, tapping fingers on both hands upon the surface of the table. The four men, linemen and medics, were gathered in the day room; all were lounging at the table in various positions. The paramedics had just returned to the station after dealing with a man trapped in a warehouse thanks to an overzealous coworker operating a tow motor like a race car. Mike was in the dorm room reading while their captain was plowing through the pile of paperwork in his office. 

“I thought you were all for an exorcism,” Roy contradicted mildly. He glanced over at Johnny who hadn’t said anything since they had returned but was clearly listening.

“Well sure, he’ll probably need that too because it’s pretty clear that she’s determined to inhabit our Johnny baby.”

Johnny’s lip curled upward in a soundless snarl and his hands clutched convulsively at the top of his backwards chair as he joined in the conversation. “I am sitting right here, ya know. And besides, Mr. Teal already came up with that suggestion.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Roy pondered out loud. “Although I don’t think he is going to do it.”

“Probably should get the same lady to do it that did it for Mrs. Teal. After all, from what you said, it sounded like something happened in that house during the séance.” Marco added, looking pointedly at John.

John shook his head, plainly skeptical. “You really believe those things work?”

“If you have someone that can really communicate with the departed, then sure, absolutely. We’re not talking about those charlatans that have the bells tied to their ankles, or they push buttons under their foot to play the spooky music, or have mirrors rigged up in the room with an accomplice hiding behind the drapes,” Marco explained earnestly.

“That medium, Mrs. Butler, didn’t look like she had any of those props, at least none that she carried out when she left. All she had was a tablecloth, a candle, and some little ornamental thing,” DeSoto said, his eyes darting about watching the men and their expressions. “Although she did shove everything into a big black bag….”

“Honestly guys, I think we need to find out why this Alice chick is coming back to harass both Mr. Teal and Gage. I mean, why is she so bent on giving them both grief?” This time the question came from Chet, who had gotten up from his chair and was pacing restlessly around the table.

“I think I can help with that,” a voice from the doorway floated eerily in and Stoker stepped into the room. “I have a friend that works over at the library; she did some research for me on this Alice character.”

“Geesh, is there anybody on this shift that doesn’t know what’s going on?” The younger paramedic queried fretfully, running a hand through his hair. Beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead and his upper lip but he shivered, goose bumps rising up on his arms. There was a foreboding silence as he caught the attention of his crewmates; he ducked his head down and rubbed his arms, not noticing the stares.

“Probably the captain,” Chet supplied helpfully, leaning closer and trying to get a better look at the distraught man. No doubt checking his eye color and Roy had to work at fighting down his own urge to check his partner over. The last time he had seen him this fretful and sick looking, he had been infected with that deadly monkey virus and they all knew how that had almost turned out.

It was time to break up the creepy atmosphere that seemed to be wafting slowly around them. “What did you find out, Stoker?”

“Alice Baylor died last month from a self-inflicted gunshot wound…”

“What?” Chet squawked, slapping a hand over his mouth when his exclamation came out louder then intended. He repeated his question from earlier. “The chick offed herself and she’s come back to haunt her brother- in -law and Gage? What in the world for?”

The lanky engineer poured a cup of coffee, taking his time and purposely diverting all the attention that had been focused on Johnny on to himself. He was a good man, Roy confirmed silently and not for the first time.He shot Stoker a grateful glance before nonchalantly easing out of his chair and ambling over to the taller man’s side. He held out his mug for a partial refill, his eyes flicking back over to his partner.

Johnny had his eyes partially closed; his shivering seemed to have abated but he was gripping his crossed arms tightly and rocking a bit, perhaps to try and keep the shaking unnoticeable. It was disconcerting to watch his strong friend battling whatever it was that was bothering him; was Alice trying to force her way back into him or was he merely succumbing to the thick undercurrents permeating the room and the men?

“That’s not all,” Mike said slowly, seemingly reluctant to say anymore but knowing that he had to tell them everything. “She killed herself after she killed her husband.”

“Oh boy,” Marco muttered, hand going up to touch the newly repaired chain around his neck. “This just keeps getting better and better by the minute.”

Even DeSoto was dumbfounded by this latest bit of news. Alice was definitely one disturbed individual, both in her earthly life and now in her ghostly afterlife. But Chet had a good point - why was she haunting Mr. Teal and the innocent, unwilling participant in her possession? Surely it couldn’t just be that Gage had treated Mr. Teal, for he had been just as involved and hadn’t been bothered by her, yet. “Does it say the reasons behind the murder and the suicide, Mike?”

A shake of the dark head was the disappointing answer. “Nope, not even much speculation. The article, and the several that followed it within the week, just stated that there were “family troubles” and that was it.”

“Family troubles,” Chet repeated thoughtfully, stroking his lip and directing a peculiar gaze towards the stubbornly silent John. “That could mean anything from not liking a comment about her cooking to him having a little fling on the side. We’d better be real careful when we have this gathering of spirits thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roy asked sharply, not liking the meaning behind Kelly’s words.

“He just means that you’d better keep all sharp objects away from me,” Gage drawled out in a flat voice, head up and arms now dangling loosely at his sides. “And nobody better be packing a gun, because I’m liable to lose all control and, well, you know….”

“Don’t be such a twit, Johnny,” Marco huffed, involuntarily repeating Captain Stanley’s favorite insult. “We all trust you with our lives every day, and this is no exception.”

“Well, there are four of us against one of him, so I guess we can take the chance.”

It was Mike this time who jumped in and berated the Irish lineman. “Kelly, knock it off!”

“You know he’s right, we don’t know what I’m going to do if “she” comes around,” Johnny admitted, looking at each of the men in turn. “Maybe we’d just better forget the whole thing.”

“Not a chance!” Marco declared. “This needs to be taken care of as soon as possible, and if we can get that medium to do it, so much the better. Where should we hold this thing?”

“Too bad we can’t borrow that spooky old house on the hill that those two spinsters own,” Chet said, finally plopping into a chair and playing absently with an abandoned mug on the table. “It really fits the bill for the atmosphere part.”

“Yeah, it does but somehow I don’t think they would let us use it for that kind of thing, or come to think of it, for anything at all. They’re pretty territorial about that house they inherited.”

The senior paramedic’s truthful statement got a grin out of Gage; he had settled into a placid state which had Roy just as equally worried. Was this the calm before the storm perhaps, or was he just over reacting again to every nuance of his friend’s behavior? It was hard to tell because he was confused about his own state of mind. Were they both going crazy as Johnny had suggested?

The snap of Marco’s fingers broke his solemn reverie. “I’ve got it! One of my great aunts owns this old house that used to be a, ah, a brothel, oh you know, a house of ill repute. It’s way out, away from everything.”

He stopped, his face turning a dull shade of red as snickers rolled through the room. “Oh, give me a break; she bought it years ago from a friend, way before I ever came on the scene. Some of the common areas still have the original furnishings, you know, like velvet kind of drapes, that sorta thing.”

“Of course she did! A brothel in LA County, can you imagine?” Kelly chortled, slapping the table in glee. “Lopez, you just opened up a whole can of worms!”

“Sounds perfect Marco,” Mike interrupted with a tight smile, looking around the still laughing lineman at the doorway. Chet immediately took the not so subtle hint and quieted down.

“As long as no johns died there, we should be okay,” Gage added, covering his mouth with a hand to hide his sly grin. Marco groaned but manfully took the good natured ribbing.

Thirty minutes later plans were firmly in place. They had found Mrs. Butler in the yellow pages and obtained her services for the next evening, after making sure all five of the crew would be available. Lopez had gotten in touch with his relative and had been assured of full cooperation in anything he needed or wanted, including a gracious offer of supper before the séance would take place.

The excited mood didn’t last long, however, as the men began their shift chores and had time to think about what they were going to do. The usual chatter was so conspicuously absent that Hank Stanley came out of his office to check up on them.

“No, there’s nothing wrong,” DeSoto lied valiantly, keeping his head conveniently facing away as he shelved the drug box. He slammed the compartment door closed and turned to find Cap an inch away, glaring at him.

“Then perhaps you’ll invite me to this séance thing tomorrow night so that I can see for myself that there is absolutely nothing wrong here in my station?”

The medic coughed nervously and bit his lip. How to explain this? “Sure you can go, Cap, we just didn’t know if you would have any interest in that kind of thing.”

“I have a healthy interest in anything that affects my men, or the work that they are supposed to be doing. You and Gage have been acting hinky for several shifts now, Roy, and I want a believable answer for all of it. Especially now that it appears all of my crew are involved…..”

Shifting uneasily, Roy followed Stanley into his office. He filled him in all the events that had occurred since the first call to the Teal house, sticking to the facts and trying not to add his personal opinions to the tale. The captain listened dispassionately, leaning back in his chair with lips pursed, and fingers steepled together under his chin. He didn’t interrupt the one sided dialogue and when Roy finished, simply gazed up at the ceiling for a long moment.

“I’ve seen and heard some strange things in both the fire service and the army, but I have to admit that this has got to be one of the oddest.” He rose to his feet, unfolding his long legs and turning to look out the window. He parted the blinds and peered out before turning back around. “But I have five good, credible men believing in whatever it is that is occurring, and so I have to also believe, at least for the moment…”

His quiet declaration of faith in his crew was interrupted by the tones going off for the whole station. The hair on the back of Roy’s neck rose when the address was repeated and he shot his leader an incredulous look.

“That’s the Teal house, again……”

~TBC~

A/N – Sorry, I really wanted to post this on Halloween, but it wasn’t quite ready. The next chapter should be ready to go in a few days, thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**__ **

Johnny paused for a moment on the sidewalk, watching the ambulance pull away that contained Mr. Teal and Roy in the back and Mrs. Teal in the front with the driver. Marco and Chet were still inside the house doing the small amount of overhaul that needed done, while their captain was making a beeline towards him. He swallowed hard and waited, wondering what Roy had told him and what he was going to say.

“John? The victim accused his wife of starting that fire, didn’t he?”

“Yessir,” he replied, running the two words together in his nervousness.

Volunteering information was not on his agenda right now, especially with the way the boss was looking him over. If he had to put a word to that look, he would have to say contemplation. He was surprised, as he was sure skepticism or even anger was going to be directed his way. It seemed, however, like Stanley was rolling the words around in his head before letting them spill out his mouth; Johnny supposed that was one of those leadership things that he might have a hard time with when he decided to climb the upwards ladder within the department. Shooting off his mouth before thinking about it happened naturally, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to stop that bad habit.

Apparently Cap had it down pat, as he flicked his hand towards the squad and said simply, “That’s what I thought. Go on your follow up, and I’ll see you back at the station.”

He walked off towards the engine with his long, ground eating stride. By the time Gage swallowed down part of his paranoia and hesitantly replied “okay”, it was to a departing back. Another thing to worry about; the captain’s words held promise of further inquisition. He slid awkwardly into the truck, with none of his usual grace, and cast a suspicious eye towards the house. He was certain that Alice had been the cause of the fire and not Mrs. Teal. Probably had knocked the poor guy down when he had been upstairs in their house that other time too; she had proven herself perfectly capable of that deed so maybe she had just been practicing with him before going for the brother – in – law. That didn’t explain the possessions, or whatever they were calling them, though, and he could feel the dread crawling down his back as he easily eliminated that idea. She wasn’t done with whatever she planning, that was for sure, and with Teal in the hospital……well, all hell was about to break lose, no doubt about it.

~eeeEEEeee~

After eight hours of restless sleep, a sleep that was riddled with ridiculous fragments of headless horsemen and shrieking goblins, Roy was incredibly weary the next evening. Yawning widely, he pulled into the parking lot of his partner’s apartment and watched as Johnny meandered towards him, steps slow and hesitant, with hands jammed into the front pockets of his dress slacks. So he wasn’t the only one that that had been plagued by nightmares, he thought sympathetically, glad that he had suggested the carpool. Gage had just sold his VW van, and was down to his motorcycle for transportation. He refused to answer any questions about the replacement vehicle he had purchased; saying only that the guys had probably never seen one on the streets of Los Angeles.

“Thanks for the ride,” he murmured as he climbed into DeSoto’s truck, his brief smile subdued and dark pouches of skin under his eyes, reaffirming his friend’s guess as to the amount of shuteye he had also managed.

Roy glanced up at the sky as he pulled out of the parking lot and gave a brief nod. “Good thing we planned it this way; I think we’re in for some weather.”

“Of course we are. I bet there’s going to be plenty of thunder and lightning, gusty wind, and pouring rain,” he replied sarcastically, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“Why do you say that? Oh, right, just the perfect setting for the séance.”

“Yeah, the séance thing.” His tone was glum and matched Roy’s own mood and the threatening sky. “I honestly cannot believe we’re doing this.”

“Me neither.”

Neither was inclined to discuss what had occurred and what the evening might bring. They maintained the uneasy silence as they headed out of the city following Lopez’s scrawled directions on a torn piece of paper. The house was located in Three Piece Canyon and it required an hour of driving to reach the address. By the time they had traveled down the paved but potholed road and turned into the gravel driveway, Roy was thankful he chosen to drive his truck instead of the Porsche. The wind whipped their clothes and their hair as they ran towards the wide porch, the sprinkles of rain turning to a torrential downpour as they made it safely under the roof.

“Man that was close! A cold rain too,” Johnny complained, trying to shake off the moisture that had spotted his long sleeve shirt and clung to his dark hair. He put his finger up to the doorbell and paused, doubt shadowing his face in the dim light of the pair of black sconces mounted on either side of the door. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Roy had no time to formulate a reply as the inner door opened suddenly and Marco’s voice floated through the screen door. “Hey guys, you made it just in time, come on in. Everyone’s here, even Mrs. Butler. Tia Maria invited her for supper too.”

Wiping their shoes off on the bristly welcome mat, the paramedics entered the Victorian style house and met their hostess. She was a petite woman, probably not over five foot tall, with snowy white hair and a face adorned with the wrinkles of time. Her floor length, black dress mimicked the period of the house and also the occasion with its swishing folds and somber color. A large oval cameo was pinned to the high neck of her gown and added a bit of color. Unable to help himself, Johnny impulsively took both of her age gnarled hands in his own and bowed over them.

“Why Mr. Gage!” She giggled and her laugh was bubbling and youthful, which brought smiles to all of the men clustered by the door. She swatted him playfully on the arm and let him escort her to the dining room, treading noiselessly on the thick, rose covered area rugs that adorned the dark wood floors. The rest of the crew was already gathered around the table.

Hellos were said and introductions to Mrs. Butler were made as the two men settled themselves, on either side of her, into the straight back, wooden chairs adorned with soft, thick cushions; Marco led his great aunt Torres to the head of the rectangular table and took his own seat next to her. Aside from a strange look, the medium made no comment about remembering them from the Teal house and Johnny had no desire to remind her. Let her ask, or figure it out for herself.

He glanced about the warmly lit room and felt a sliver of reassurance touch his frayed nerves. This had to be one of the rooms still furnished, for the most part, as it was originally, for there was an abundance of red, velvet, and gold throughout the large space. Heavy folds of drapery covered the long windows and blocked the blustery weather outside, while an enormous gold chandelier swung merrily over the table, lights reflecting in every direction from the diamond shaped prisms dangling from it. The colors were a bit overwhelming but somehow it all worked; he could imagine a hundred years ago the gentlemen sitting here eating and drinking while flirting outrageously with the ladies of the house.

He looked down at his own meal of roast chicken, dumplings, peas, and blackberry pie. He picked at it, enjoying the delicious flavor but unable to swallow past the suffocating lump in his throat. He noticed that his partner wasn’t eating much either and caught the stare that was aimed his way. Roy looked pointedly at his partially eaten dinner and waved his hands in a little gesture that Gage loosely interpreted as “why aren’t you eating?”

Noticing Mrs. Butler’s head swiveling between them, her attention apparently caught by their silent exchange, Johnny took a deep gulp of water from his goblet and decided just to ignore his friend’s question. Laying his fork down on the edge of his plate, he scrutinized each of the people at the table, starting with their captain.

Stanley, who was sitting across from Marco, was polishing off his dessert and engaged in a lively discussion with Maria. The grilling that John had worried about last shift had never happened; in fact, except for several casual questions Cap had pretty much left him alone. Which of course raised the question, at least in his suspicious mind, what was Hank Stanley up to? Surely he wasn’t buying into any of this hocus pocus stuff? Yet in the few comments DeSoto had made about his conversation with the man, their leader had appeared eager to attend this little spirit gathering. Maybe he actually believed in ghosts but more than likely he really was concerned about his crew and wanted to keep an eye on them. That was probably it……

Gage ran a finger over the rim of his glass and wished for a moment that it was something stronger. His eyes left the hypnotizing sway of the water and traveled diagonally across the table to Chet. The curly haired lineman was chasing peas across his plate with single – minded determination and didn’t appear to be the least interested in his one of a kind surroundings or the casual conversation humming about him. Gage knew he was anticipating the upcoming séance with excitement, though, and that Kelly also believed strongly that Alice had possessed him at least several times. So the usually talkative and strongly opinionated man was playing it cool, at least for now. Probably counting his little green veggies and trying to come up with some zingers for Marco about this house; there was no way Kelly was going to let his buddy off the hook about that!

Lips twitching slightly, John rolled his eyes towards his left where Mike Stoker sat, displaying his usual quiet and observant ways. The medic had no idea what the engineer thought of the whole situation; getting that information from his friend at the library had been both helpful and surprising, as no one had any idea that he was going to do it. Whether or not the engineer had an opinion one way or another about the whole mess remained to be seen, as he really hadn’t voiced his thoughts. But honestly, Johnny didn’t really care if Mike thought he was loony or not, as he had proved beyond a doubt that he had his back. He might have been freaking out a bit back there at the station yesterday afternoon but he had been very well aware of Stoker pulling the unwanted attention away from him and also berating good old Chester.

As far as Kelly’s partner, he looked a bit tense. A loud crack of thunder shook the room and as Gage was leaning back a bit in his chair to observe the older man, he couldn’t help but notice the reaction to the noise. Marco went airborne a brief second, a look of horror darkening his face, and Johnny would have laughed if he hadn’t been so jumpy himself.  Everything that had happened so far Lopez had fervently believed, even the events he hadn’t personally witnessed; he had firmly drawn his own conclusions and volunteered his suggestions without a moment’s hesitation. He was steadfastly loyal to them all, and wanted nothing more than to end Alice’s reign of terror. Another good man that had their backs…..

And of course there was Roy, across from him at the table, still stealing covert glances under the pretense of chatting with the medium. No matter that DeSoto had confessed earlier that he was beginning to believe in ghosts - Johnny still pegged him as the number one doubter at the table. Roy was such a down to earth guy that he had to see things right in front of him before he would admit to their existence; he probably didn’t believe in UFOs, fairy tales, or Bigfoot either. Gage really couldn’t blame him, though, because he was still holding out hope that the whole thing was just a long, drawn out nightmare that would end, preferably before this creepy séance thing started.

The chime of glass broke John’s preoccupation of the unnatural, and he jerked his head towards the far end of the table. Maria had stood up, and was tapping the edge of her fork against her water goblet.

“Gentlemen and Lady, shall we proceed to the front parlor for the evening’s attraction?”

Chairs were pushed back and the guests waited for Mrs. Torres to precede them from the room. She gracefully swished her way over to Johnny and he gallantly took her arm once again to escort her. Marco had detoured around the table in the opposite direction from his aunt and led the way to the parlor, which was indeed in the front of house. Although a bit smaller than the dining room, it was decorated in the same way with rich fabrics; the chandelier that had warmed and illuminated the larger space was replaced here with a dozen or so lamps scattered throughout that created an even cozier feeling. There were several small couches, upholstered in dark burgundy, as well as groupings of comfortable chairs with small tables nestled between them.

Johnny’s appraising gaze was drawn to the bay windows that he had noticed while standing on the front porch earlier. The three ceiling to floor windows were lightly swathed in lacy, floaty material, with tasseled shades drawn to block out the night. A table was set up in the alcove with eight chairs drawn up around it; he recognized the tablecloth covering the round wood as Mrs. Butler’s. He found himself suddenly standing in the tight space, fingering the material of the dark cloth, with no recollection of how he had got there. He shuddered, not sure if it was for that reason or the fact that he seemed to be standing in a draft of frigid air. Both, without a doubt, because the air was swirling menacingly around his legs, flicking the edges of the light curtains in a chaotic manner, and lifting the fringed hem of the medium’s stupid prop in a frantic dance; he dropped his hand and swatted at the nothingness, feeling icy tendrils climbing his arm.

“Mr. Gage?” A comforting hand on his other bare forearm, as the sleeves had been rolled up during dinner, caused him to do a fair imitation of the jump he had observed Marco doing earlier. He turned his head slowly, blinking in confusion, and met the discerning stare of their hostess. “Here, I brought you a little something to warm your insides.”

She proffered a warmed snifter filled a quarter full with a golden liquid and Gage took it with a steady hand, proud of himself for being able to manage it. He resisted the urge to give it an experimental sniff before taking a swallow, expecting the medicinal taste of brandy.

“Whoa!” He choked out, as warmth hit his tongue and slid down his throat. He tried another tentative sip before directing a questioning gaze at Mrs. Torres. “I was really expecting something else….”

“It’s Drambuie, one of my favorites, especially in weather like this. I must admit that I like my drinks strong, and sometimes a bit sweet,” she confided with a sly smile, releasing his captive arm and patting it. “You looked like you could use something to wet your whistle and take the edge off.”

“Indeed,” Johnny said, unable to come up with anything else to say but pleased and surprised with her intuitiveness. He cut his eyes back towards the curtains and the tablecloth, but all was still. Nothing brushed his legs or stirred the materials in the alcove. Had it been another hallucination on his part? He swallowed hard and lowered his eyes to focus on the amber liquid. His hand betrayed him this time by trembling slightly as he raised the glass and drained the contents in two large gulps. He lowered his hand, embarrassed by his gluttony and his weakness.

“You know, I always say be prepared; I must say that the Boy Scouts knew what they were doing when they came up with that saying!” Maria exclaimed with a laugh, easily removing the now cool glass from clenched fingers and replacing it with another warmed one. “Now bottoms up, my dear boy, for the night is young and we have things we must see to.”

Definitely going to have to ask Lopez about his great aunt’s life, John mused with a tight smile. That was bound to be a story of great adventure and most likely mayhem, judging by the animation in the lady’s face and the mirth in her voice. Plus he was pretty sure he had overheard her saying something about meeting Jack London when she was young, how incredible was that? London was one his favorite fiction writers and he had traveled to many exciting places through the reading of the writer’s many stories.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered obediently, deliberately turning his back on the windows and giving Mrs. Torres a little toast with his glass. She snatched up another snifter placed on a tray and sitting conveniently on one of the doily covered tables next to her and tapped her vessel against his with a resounding clink.

“Here’s to a productive evening!” She stated loudly, taking a sip and smacking her lips appreciatively. This time John’s smile widened and reached his eyes as he watched her enjoy her drink; she grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the cold, unwelcoming alcove and into the noisy hum of the room.

~eeeEEEeee~

Twenty minutes later conversation had begun to quiet down which allowed the noise of the continuing storm outside to fill the parlor. Johnny, sprawled limblessly in a winged armchair next to the unlit fireplace, jolted upright at a particularly sharp crack of thunder. He carefully placed his fourth glass of Drambuie down on the ornate table at his elbow and stifled a yawn, ignoring the fact that he had been about to succumb to the beckoning arms of sleep.

“It was a dark and stormy night…” he began in a monotone, glancing about and noting the activities of all the occupants. His prime focus was the whereabouts of the spiritualist, though; he wanted to see what she was up to and whether her energy was “right” to begin the séance. He finally located her standing motionless in the same spot he had been earlier. Her posture was stiff and he was pretty sure her heavily mascaraed eyes were closed. Probably summoning the spirits, or her accomplices, depending on whether she had outside help or not……he threw his head back on the soft pillow of upholstery, feeling a pleasant lassitude settle over him despite the circumstances.

The old but young dame and her alcohol had certainly done the trick, coating all his apprehensions with a thin veneer of complacency, whatever will be will be, or something like that. He was certainly glad that he wasn’t doing the driving home – then again he had already been offered the hospitality of an overnight stay. Chet and Marco were going to spend the night but Roy was still nursing his first beer, lounging upright and chatting easily with Maria Torres, who was still going forward at full steam. Captain Stanley was stretched out comfortably in the armchair that matched Gage’s and was situated at an angle to his; the captain was sound asleep, the one drink that he had imbibed and the food apparently soothing him to quick slumber.

Eyeing his boss with a jealous eye, easily forgetting that he had been on the verge of snoozing himself, John wobbled out of the comforting arms of the chair and staggered slightly as he quickly surveyed the room again. He steadied himself on the marble mantel of the ornate fireplace as he watched Mrs. Butler. The medium now had her arms straight down by her sides, fist clenched, and face screwed up in concentration. She was putting on a pretty good show over there and if he hadn’t witnessed the tail end of her performance at the Teal house, he might have believed she was the real thing. He hadn’t missed her little glances, while they were treating Mrs. Teal, to see what was happening around her when she had supposedly been in a trance. He hadn’t had the heart to burst the guys’ hope bubbles by snitching on the woman. Let them think she was a bona fide spirit communicator and maybe they would back off a bit, give him some space. He knew they meant well, wanted to help him, but he felt like he was suffocating in their concern and the sympathy. They were good guys, the whole bunch of them, even Chet with his jokes and weird suggestions…..man, they were like family!

He snickered, hiding the sound behind his hand, as he realized that the booze was taking him down a path laden with sentiment. He glanced over at the drink he had set down and contemplated finishing it, but decided against it. Enough of the warm and fuzzy stuff; it was time to get this whole farce over with. He straightened up and noted that their hostess had detached herself away from his partner. She was advancing on Mrs. Butler with determination in every step.

“Mrs. Butler, are you ready to begin the séance? Mrs. Butler?” Mrs. Torres touched the other’s arm when no response was forthcoming; Johnny had moved up beside them and watched with interest as the medium slowly opened her eyes and blinked them several times.

“Wha…..what?” She asked in confusion, reaching a hand up to pull at one of the gold hoop earrings that swung from her ears. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Maria tilted her head in a birdlike movement and regarded Butler thoughtfully for a moment before she answered. “I was asking if you were ready? Is there something wrong, my dear?”

“No, no, there just appears to be a great deal of activity over here,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly. She looked past the shorter woman and stared at Gage, who stared right back with lips twitching in amusement.

How much had Lopez told this woman? Had she had time to go to the library and research Alice before tonight’s do? Of course she had, she would have dug up all that stuff when she had received the initial call from whoever had set up the séance at the Teal house. He really needed to talk to Lopez before this thing started and find out exactly what information had been shared.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, breaking free from the rude stare still being directed at him and heading in the direction of the two linemen. They were sitting in several chairs grouped together in what Johnny supposed could be called an intimate setting. He could tell an argument was taking place by their body movements; the low humming of their tense voices broke off when he was several steps away and Lopez abruptly stood up, relief breaking out on his face.

“Johnny!” He gushed, punching him in the arm while still glaring at Kelly. Chet merely scowled back, jaw jutted out mutinously.

“Ah,” Gage began, taken back by the familiarity and the still close proximity of Marco. He stepped back, rubbing the punched arm. “What did you tell that medium, Mrs. Butler, when you called her?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing, just said that Aunt Maria wanted to host a séance here to see if there were any spirits flying around. Aunt Maria was totally for it; in fact, she admitted that she had always wanted to participate in one. That’s all both of them know about it, well, my aunt knows that there may be someone we want to try and communicate with, ‘cause I had to tell her a reason for this whole thing, but I didn’t tell her who. So she doesn’t know a thing about Alice or any of your, uh, visitations.” Marco stopped and drew a deep breath after his rapid fire answer.

“Good, that’s good,” Gage acknowledged, looking back and forth between the two men with a quizzical frown. “What’s bugging you guys?”

Lopez shuffled his feet and looked sheepish, if only for a moment. He avoided Johnny’s raised eyebrows and tilted head and instead frowned in his partner’s direction. “Chet, here, is being difficult and insulting, as usual.”

“I am not!” Chet whined, standing up and shaking his head vehemently. “I don’t think it was wrong of me to ask you if we should collect money...”

“And I said no!” Marco interrupted. “Our idea, we take care of it! And that’s not all you did, amigo, you also said some rude things about this house and its, its….ah, history!”

John leaned sideways and peered at the little doily draped table positioned between the chairs. There was four empty glasses perched there so no, they weren’t really too intoxicated. His own pleasant buzz was giving way to a throbbing in his temples as well as an ache in his stomach. Potent stuff, that Drambuie, at least on a half empty gut and his dehydrated body.

He straightened back up and regarded the linemen, who were now standing shoulder to shoulder and bumping each other with increasing frequency and total disregard for the delicate knickknacks strewn about.

“Knock it off you idiots!” He hissed, understanding why their captain sometimes had that bemused but frustrated expression sliding across his face, especially at roll call. Both men suddenly stopped their childish antics but not because of his admonishment; Marco’s aunt was beckoning to them.

“Come on Gage,” Chet said seriously, the argument suddenly forgotten. He grabbed him by the arm and Lopez split off to his other side; they propelled their unwilling crewmate forward a step before he snarled and shook off their clutching hands.

The whole maneuver reminded him of their protectiveness down in the basement of the mortuary. He took a wary step forward, glancing over his shoulder, and almost smacked into Maria. The elderly lady had closed the distance between herself and their little group with surprising speed.

It was Kelly that she confronted. “Mr. Chester B. Kelly! I am told that in the fire station, you are the prankster and the instigator of many things, not all of them nice.”

“Who, me?” An innocent look starting off his act, Chet placed a hand on his chest in indignation and opened his mouth to begin the spiel. Mrs. Torres simply snagged his earlobe between her index finger and thumb and began leading him across the room.  Johnny and Marco trailed behind; Johnny had his mouth slightly open in astonishment and Marco was gracing the interested spectators with a knowing smirk.

“The room I have assigned you for tonight, Mr. Kelly, once belonged to a young woman who was reportedly quite the trickster herself. And do you know, on a night like this she went too far…….”

Gage’s mouth snapped shut as they followed behind, turning off the pretty lamps as they went. Captain Stanley fell in behind them shaking his head as Chet’s stuttering “but, but, buts” and John finally let loose a snort of mirth, releasing some of the tension that was threatening to overtake him.

“They make a nice pair, don’t they?” He whispered to his Hispanic crewmate as they passed Roy and he stepped into the trail of darkness they were leaving.

“Nope, Chet would never be able to handle her,” Marco disagreed with a cheeky smile, purposely nudging the medic into the chair next to him, directly across the circle from Mrs. Butler. Roy snagged the chair on the other side of his partner and shrugged apologetically at their captain. He took the remaining seat and smiles faded as the group grew quiet.

Mrs. Butler stared at the white pillar candle burning in the center of the table and held out her hands, palms flat. “Please join hands, close your eyes, remain silent, and concentrate. I am told there is a rich history attached to this house, and I have no doubt that we will be talking with at least one lost soul, and probably more.”

A nervous titter came from a male throat somewhere and Johnny quelled the answering laughter that threatened to bubble out. He reluctantly gave up his hands to Marco and Roy and peeked through slitted lids at the woman. The last time he had seen her, at the Teal house, she wore her hair twisted up; tonight it fell in dark waves about her shoulders. She’d had it tucked behind her ears for the whole evening but now it fell forward and brushed the top of the table as she leaned in, perilously close to the flame. She did look pretty convincing, especially since she was backlit by the occasion flash of lightning behind her. He was unable to contain the laughter this time but was able to convert it into a halfhearted cough as it left his lips. He felt the bone crunching squeeze on his left hand and knew that Marco was warning him to behave. Hadn’t fooled him, then, with the camouflaged giggle but maybe it had worked with everyone else because there were no evil glares coming his way; of course they all had their heads slightly bowed and eyes closed per the directions of their spirit seeker……

He smiled to himself and let his eyes slide shut completely. It was time to play the game, and see what this lady was going to conjure out of the darkness. Another sudden clap of thunder and he felt the briefest twitch of the hand on his right as the noise apparently startled the usually unflappable Roy.  The rain was slashing against the windows now with an intense pellet like ferocity and the lightning had gone from brief appearances to sheets of lingering light that he could see through the thin skin of his eyelids. And to top it all off, the wind was howling like a banshee, tunneling down through the chimney and exploding out into the room in a flood of ear splitting noise.

Gage shivered in spite of his disbelief in the spiritualist’s abilities. He listened to the low drone of her voice with only partial attention as she started yacking with someone named Gladys, telling them all about the spirit’s unhappiness with the afterlife. No one at the table had spoken up and claimed to know the elusive presence – wasn’t that how these things were supposed to work? A dead relative or lost love would try and contact one of the people sitting in on the séance? Even the firm believer to his left was shifting uncomfortably in his chair but he still had Johnny’s hand pinned firmly to the tablecloth with his own. There was no hand holding with these guys for both Marco and Roy had his hands firmly trapped. Must be afraid he was going to run for freedom but they shouldn’t be worried about that; they should worry about him falling from his chair in boredom.

He sighed softly and then another shiver ran though him as he felt something swirl about his legs, the same cold whoosh of air he had felt earlier. Only this time it snaked up his legs and began to wind a slow, chilling coil about his lower body. His attention now fully diverted away from Mrs. Butler, he missed her sudden silence as “Gladys” apparently fled the room and was replaced by something else. Something, or someone, that began as a muffled whine from the medium’s lips and grew in volume to a wail of anguish. A nerve wracking sound that escalated to a scream as another hammer of thunder rattled the old house, the candle on the table flickered and blew out, and an answering, anguished yell shook the lead pane windows…..

~TBC~

 

 

 

_A/N – In the last run to the Teal house on the episode, Johnny and Roy pull in a hose to extinguish a fire basically contained within the window curtains; Mrs. Teal calls for help – her husband is lying on the floor – they carry him out. He has suffered smoke inhalation and burns to his hands and asks his wife “why she did it”._

 

 

 

 


End file.
